


Dear Cousin, Love Regulus

by LLAP115, XxTheDarkLordxX



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bigotry & Prejudice, Canon Death, Coming of Age, Community: harrydracobang, Dobby & Draco Friendship, Draco Malfoy Discovers Who He Is, Epic Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Harry/Draco Big Bang 2018, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hogwarts First Year, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hogwarts Second Year, Hogwarts Third Year, Horcruxes, Illustrated, M/M, Mild Angst, Moral Lessons, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Self-Discovery, Self-Reflection, Summer of Sixth Year, Teen Romance, Unlearning Racism, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-11 07:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 86,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15967970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LLAP115/pseuds/LLAP115, https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxTheDarkLordxX/pseuds/XxTheDarkLordxX
Summary: As the sole Malfoy heir, Draco understood that his path was set long before his birth; who to be, how to act and what his choices should be. What he had not counted on was the power of outside influences. Letters from his deceased cousin caused him to realize that he did have choices, starting with the choice to be someone else, to be who he wanted to be. The road to self-discovery was difficult and navigating that path in the shadow of Harry Potter was its own challenge but maybe, just maybe, his friends would help him along the way. And he would owe it all to Regulus Black.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for Harry/Draco Big Bang 2018. 
> 
> **Author Notes:** Thank you so much to the mods for putting in all the hard work that they have. Total Rockstar's of the fest, I don't know how they did it. A big thank you to Llap115, Tami, you are just amazing and I love the art you created for my story. I knew the moment signups went up that I wanted to do the fest with you. A million thank you to snortinglaughter, Gigi you were the best Alpha/Beta I could ask for. The agonizing and the million questions I had and you did it so quickly and helped so much. Jess, Sherry, you both helped me with a listening ear and wonderful advice, I am forever grateful. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this!
> 
> -XxTheDarkLordxX
> 
>  **Artist Notes:** Thank you so much, Sam, for going on this amazing journey with me! I love all your stories, and when you told me about your idea for this fest, I could not have been happier!!! I still don't know WHY I chose this more realistic art style, it drove me up the walls at times ;D  
>  Thank you to the mods, gracerene and writcraft, for organizing this amazing fest. They started working on Big Bang almost a year ago, can you imagine?!! Then read and beta'd ALL entries, which are each at least 50k+ !! D E D I C A T I O N ;)  
> And finally, thank you to a very special group of pocket friends, who I could shout and whine at whenever I needed it, especially when I got stuck for more than two weeks and nothing wanted to work: erin_riwen, lettersbyelise, maesterchill, novaa, timothyboxers. I love y'all!! 
> 
> -LLAP115

Regulus congratulated Narcissa as soon as the news was confirmed. He smiled as warmly as he possibly could as a wave of nausea hit him hard.

All he had to do was look towards Malfoy to know that any child Lucius had would be condemned to a depressing fate. A fate with no choice, a fate filled with despair and one so lonely that it would crush the poor child.

A fate that Regulus knew all too well.

He couldn’t do it, couldn’t bear the thought of his soon-to-be cousin left with only Malfoy’s prejudiced thoughts. It wouldn’t end well for the baby. It couldn’t.

So, Regulus did the only thing he could. He wrote it all out and made sure that the next Malfoy heir would get a complete story, one that wasn’t biased, one that wasn’t shrouded in darkness aimed at being an infallible truth.

Regulus wrote to his cousin and hoped it would be enough.

 


	2. Draco Malfoy and the Letter that Started a New Path (Year One)

****Dear Cousin,** **

_Despite the nature of this communication, I feel childish sending such a letter. Part of me hasn’t committed to sending something that won’t be read for many more years. It’s not wise to assume my letters will be met with positivity._

_However, I can’t bear to stop now. Not when I need to stress the importance of my words. You, dear cousin, are just a small life still in the womb, a life that I fear will be painted in cruelty. All children are innocent until life, experiences and even family shape them._

_I would give anything to keep your innocence from ever changing, but I cannot as long as you remain blind to the horrors of being a descendant of the Black and Malfoy family._

_If you are anything like me, then you will be rolling your eyes at such a biased utterance. Oh, how I heard my own brother tell me the same things as I grew up, but I promise you that such teachings are important. The things I tell you are vital to listen to. If not with your own actions, then please just listen to the words._

_I’m sending you these letters, because I want you to see that there is more than what we have been taught. There is more than just our Pureblood ethics that we recite for meaningless validation. Validation from those that only see it as a trophy to place on a shelf built upon the suffering of others._

_Being a Dark Wizard is not the problem, and it never was. Being Dark is not the same as being bad. I agree with that line of thought, I will concede that our upbringing was right in that aspect. But doing harm in the plight of keeping freedom is not the same thing as having a cause._

_When one takes away the rights of others to ensure that their own freedom is continued, then what has society become?_

_I know that this sounds like a passionate plea given by Light Wizards, and for that I can’t help but sneer slightly. However biased that they are, they are not wrong when it comes to maintaining the rights of those that are different. If only they would realize that the same sentiment applies to us as well._

_I will never be able to tell you that one such path is correct. To be Light comes with its own downfalls—no one’s organization is flawless. If there is a middle ground where you take the pieces of both Light and Dark mentalities and combine them, then I urge you to do so._

_Ultimately it all comes down to choice. The choice to listen to me, the choice to ignore my warnings, the choice to find your own way—your own mistakes, and who you want to be._

_Your upbringing will be similar to my own, and for that, I weep for you, cousin. All my life I knew who I was supposed to be, who I was needed to be, and never once did I know who I wanted to be. The warmth that I never had is what I wish you will receive. I know your mother, and I know her frigid distance to allow nothing in. I know your father, not well, but enough to know that he has no warmth._

_Perhaps you will be an outlier, maybe you will be what thaws them both. I hope my predictions are wrong. I hope that you get the life you deserve, and the life with all the knowledge given—not a skewed version of history._

_Your life is your own, and I pray that you know this. That one day when family responsibility seems like the only answer, that you will realize you are worth so much more than a surname._

_Don’t choose for your father, don’t choose for your mother, don’t choose for me, and don’t choose for society._

_Choose for yourself. Be who you want to be. And let that be enough._

 

**Love,**

**Regulus**

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

Draco had read the letter with narrowed eyes before he pulled out his grandfather’s wand—something untraceable by the Ministry until he was allowed his own wand—and he ran as many tests as he could remember. His lessons with his tutor weren’t as advanced as the spells required, and if Draco asked his father for help it could ruin whatever was supposed to happen with the letters.

He read the signature one more time and couldn’t but frown.

Regulus. As in Regulus Black?

Draco looked to the family tapestry in the library as he took in the line over Regulus Black, the line was a symbol for death. Was the letter truly from his cousin? Someone who had been dead for over ten years? Or was it from an imposter?  

Part of him wanted to scoff and throw away the letter on instinct. It seemed so easy for others to give an opinion. As if being told his parents beliefs were wrong—as if Draco didn’t already know that—was something he could just ignore and do the opposite.

Being wrong didn’t automatically make being right easier.

He sighed as he read over the letter one more time.

“Dobby!”

The ‘ _pop’_ of the Apparition had Draco a little nervous. “Hypothetically, if I were to ask you to not tell my father something, would he be able to order the information anyway?”

Dobby winced as he peered up at Draco, his ears had drooped, and his large eyes were wide with _something_.

“Depends, Master Draco.”

A small pause caused him to glare, Dobby always did like to be dramatic.

“Depends on what?”

“On whether Master Malfoy changes Dobby’s orders. Dobby is Master Draco’s elf until he is of age.”

Draco leaned forward as a small smirk formed. “As long as you remain my elf, he can’t order you to speak of my secrets?”

Dobby shook his head quickly, his ears flopped forward with the movement.

“I need you to make sure this letter has no spells hidden within.”

When Dobby tentatively picked up the letter, a slight ‘ _tsk’_ caused Draco to frown.

“What? Is it cursed?”

Dobby regarded Draco warily. “No, but if there _had_ been a curse, Master Draco would already be ill. Dobby can’t be of help _after_ the fact.”

Draco knocked Dobby’s shoulder lightly as he let the censure humble his previous overconfidence.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t have touched it.”

“Master Draco needs to be careful.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but he took Dobby’s warning to heart regardless. “Is there anything you can tell me about the magic in the letter?”

“There are spells to ensure Master Draco is protected while he reads it.”

Draco hummed curiously, he was not used to someone looking out for him—besides Dobby.

“Old magic,” Dobby added as his fingers glowed brightly over the letter. “As in long ago placed. This may have been sent to Master Draco recently, but it was created many years ago.”

That would make sense if it was truly a letter from Regulus, which he had begun to think it might have been.

“Can you find me all information regarding Regulus Black?”

Dobby bowed before he walked towards the bookcases near the back of the library, and started to mumble, “Master Draco has legs of his own.”

Draco threw his head back and laughed loudly before he ran after Dobby.

 

* * *

 

 

The lack of knowledge on Regulus annoyed Draco and made him suspicious at the same time. Why was there no specific time of death? No date? No cause? It was as if Regulus disappeared one day and was never seen again.

The Ministry had declared Regulus dead during the war. It seemed to be common for people to go missing then, and Regulus had just been another name for the books.

“What happened to you, cousin?” Draco whispered as he shut yet another book.

“What are you looking for?”

The voice startled Draco into action. He managed to hide most of the books by the time his godfather made it to the back of the library.

“I am looking into my family history.”

Severus arched a brow—something Draco was trying to teach himself in the mirror. It was rather difficult.

“Any in particular?”

Draco shrugged, he knew that the less information he provided wouldn’t give Severus no power over him.

“The Black family.”

Severus sat down across from Draco as he folded his arms. “Your mother’s immediate family? Bellatrix was always a crazy bit–”

Draco held up a hand, not wanting to hear about his Aunt. “No, I was thinking more along the lines of Great Aunt Walburga’s family.”

A slight grimace caused Draco to tilt his head to the side. Severus wasn’t usually one for outward emotions.

“What happened to her kids? Our library is short on information.”

Silence settled around them as Severus narrowed his eyes. “Is it imperative that you know?” Severus countered. “Or is this just simple curiosity?”

Draco knew a trap when it was lain so blatantly. “Knowledge for the sake of knowledge is what I seek.”

Severus rolled his eyes before he leaned forward. “Sirius Black is imprisoned in Azkaban.”

Draco’s fingers reached forward to grip the edge of the table. That made no sense. If Regulus’ words were to be taken seriously, then his brother was a Light Wizard, which fit the family history of Sirius being disowned.

“Why?”

“Mass murder.”

Draco blinked rapidly, not expecting that answer. “And you believe that?”

Severus looked away as he exhaled louder than normal. “Not quite.”

It wasn’t until Draco gestured with his hands that Severus continued. “Black was moronic, childish, reckless, and a fool, but he wasn’t a murderer—at least not intentionally.”

Well, it was clear that Severus wasn’t a fan of Sirius. Draco wondered what the background information for that entailed, but it wouldn’t be wise to ask—he wasn’t stupid enough to do that—not when Severus’ fingers were clenched so tightly.

“And Regulus? What of him?”

Severus cleared his throat before he looked at Draco closely. “He died sometime during the war. Not too long after you were born.”

“How?”

“It’s unknown how he died.”

“But you _must_ have a guess.”

When Severus’ eyes narrowed, Draco cursed under his breath.

“Why do you care?”

Draco had to hide his fingers in his robes as they began to shake slightly. Giving anything away to Severus wouldn’t have been wise, not when he wasn’t sure where his godfather lined up in political beliefs.

“My business is my own,” Draco whispered, hoping Severus wouldn’t be too offended.

Severus snorted. “Cheeky brat.” It was said with a fondness that Draco didn’t hear too often.

“Regulus was a Death Eater.”

_What?_ Draco slumped in the chair as he ran his fingers through his hair. How could a Death Eater preach about choices and doing the right thing when they hadn’t done either? Hypocrisy at its finest.

Draco wasn’t sure what to think. It made him want to scoff at the letter, to throw it away or watch it light on fire. How could Regulus speak of things that he himself hadn’t followed?

“Why was this not public?” Draco asked, his mind still not computing it all. “Did he die by the Light?”

“As I said earlier, it is unknown how Regulus died,” Severus pointed out dryly. “Most will say he tried to run away after getting in too deep.”

“Most?” Draco asked as he wondered if that was what truly had happened. Was that why the letter had been sent? Had Regulus realized he had been wrong and wanted someone to know?

Severus closed his eyes briefly. “One doesn’t become a Death Eater and change their mind. If Regulus _had_ run, the Dark Lord would have killed him.”

“Is that what you think happened? Do you think that Regulus ran away?” Draco knew that his father and Severus were past Death Eaters, that was something that couldn’t be hidden, not when it was public knowledge.

“No,” Severus shook his head slowly. “The Dark Lord liked to make examples of those who fled. Regulus wouldn’t have been any different.”

Draco sighed in frustration. “Then what do you think happened to him?”

Severus was quiet for far too long. “I don’t know. I looked for him, for a long time.”

“Why?”

Severus stood up abruptly. “My business is my own.”

Draco watched him leave the library in confusion.

The more he learned about Regulus, the less it all made sense. Just who had been Regulus Black? And why had he sent a letter long after his death?            

 

* * *

 

 

Draco ignored the curious stares from his peers when an owl flew into the opened window of the History of Magic classroom. He rushed forward, knowing exactly what the letter was—his parents only liked to send things during breakfast where they could show off gifts—and no one else would have sent anything to him.

Shaky fingers grabbed the letter, not happy that it had been five months since the last one.

“Who do you think is sending Malfoy letters?”

Draco ignored Weasley in favour of checking the envelope for any spells. Safety would dictate that he waited until Dobby could look it over, but he didn’t have the patience for that.

He ripped open the letter and hoped that it would hold more information than the last.

 

**Dear Cousin,**

_By now, you have discovered some of who I am. I know that you are skeptic, and I know that you don’t understand my intentions. It’s humorous to me that we harbour so much suspicion for such a simple thing as trust._

__Trust will get one killed. I understand this, and I wish I could offer more than just a letter or my words._ _

_I’m a Death Eater. I’m sure you know this. I’m sure the Black family would be proud to show that off. There are times when I wish that I could be just as delusional, then maybe I could be proud too. Maybe when I look in the mirror, I won’t flinch at the monster I have become._

_If your father has told you of his past, then he has told you of his status. I hope he is upfront with the knowledge and doesn’t hide the bad parts. Because yes, there are bad parts—all of it is bad._

_On the surface, banding together and forming an organization of equal minded people sounds good—great even, but what they don’t tell you is what you have to do to maintain the membership._

_They preach the benefits, the end result of what will surely lead to an utopian society where we can all be who we want to be. Where we can finally stop hiding our magic and let loose our frustrations. Where those who respect our ways are the ones involved in our society._

_But that’s just the temptation, not truly what will happen. The prize that they boldly proclaim is shrouded in horrors that no one should have to complete just to achieve change._

_I have done horrible things in the name of that change, and all it did was kill me on the inside. All it did was push me further away from who I once was._

_Hurting others in the name of peace will never lead to success._

_People say we are at war, but that’s not entirely true. We are assassinating innocent people who have not wronged us in any capacity. We are murdering those who just want to live. We are one step away from genocide._

_Tell me, cousin, where is the justification?_

_When did petty disputes escalate to death? And how do we live with the blood on our hands? Or the screams in our ears?_

_If you want to one day be a Death Eater—the time will come—then realize that you aren’t just believing in the utopian bullshit, you are also believing in the lives that will be slain to make it happen._

_I wish I had someone to tell me the warnings, I wish I had someone who had said not to do it. I wish I hadn’t been a child making a decision that would shape my adulthood. I wish I had more than one side of history to go off of. I wish I had more than my family beliefs. I wish I had had someone there for me._

_I don’t think I’ll live to meet you, but I hope that I can give you what I never had. I pray that even one of my letters makes you rethink the path your parents will demand of you._

_My dear cousin, I just want the world for you. A world with no strife, no war, no desolation, and a world without the Dark Lord._

_Take care, you are in my thoughts._

 

**Love,**

**Regulus**                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

* * *

                                                                                                                                                                                          

Draco’s brow furrowed sometime near the beginning of the letter and they never mellowed out. As he tried to understand it all, he worried his lip between his teeth.

The war was over. The Dark Lord had been bested… by Potter.

Draco looked up, he noticed that several curious gazes were on him, but it was vibrant green that he locked eyes with.

The Dark Lord was gone… wasn’t he?

Why would Regulus suggest that the Dark Lord would come back? Or was Draco looking too deep into it? Was Regulus implying the war would have continued onward? It wasn’t as if Regulus could predict the future, perhaps things at the time seemed endless.

Draco wished he could just _talk_ to Regulus, wished that his cousin was still alive.

As Draco sighed, he realized he was still staring at Potter. Usually, Potter tended to glare—something Draco loved to see; anger simmering in Potter’s eyes was always something that could lift his mood—but Potter wasn’t glaring. No, there was open curiosity there, and he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

When the class ended, Draco hung back, eyes on Potter as he silently willed him to understand.

“Go on,” Potter told Granger and Weasley.

Draco rolled his eyes when they both looked at him warily. He looked to Crabbe and Goyle who had glared at Granger and Weasley as they cracked their knuckles in what he had assumed was a silent threat to Potter.

“Wait outside.”

Both grunted and the door had almost closed before Draco realized he needed to add more. “Don’t harm Weasley or Granger either.”

Potter made a noise of surprise at that, but Draco was too busy making sure Binns had floated out of the room.

“Potter,” he began as he looked back and straightened up. “You did kill the Dark Lord, didn’t you?” There was no point in mincing up words, he needed answers and the subject required him to be blunt.

Potter opened his mouth only to close it again as a cycle of the same motion repeated.

“Sorry, come again?”

Draco rolled his eyes. Why did Gryffindors have to be so stupid?

“There’s a lot of vague details, but the standard belief is that he’s dead. I’m asking you if that’s true.”

There was a stifling silence as Potter stared at Draco far longer than was polite. Merlin, someone needed to teach him manners.

“Why?” Potter asked finally. “Does this have something to do with your letter?”

Draco wasn’t sure how to respond to that. There wasn’t a chance in hell that he was going to tell _Potter,_ of all people about Regulus.

“It might, but I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

Potter narrowed his eyes before he folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t know what I did that night, or if I even did anything at all.”

Draco frowned, he didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“Hagrid thinks he’ll come back, that he’s not dead.”

“Fuck,” Draco swore, as he clutched the letter closer to his chest. It was all too much. No eleven-year-old should have to consider such things. It wasn’t fair.

“Er–are you alright, Malfoy?”

Draco laughed, the sound hollow even to his own ears. “As alright as I imagine you will be one day.” If the Dark Lord wasn’t dead, then Draco knew his father would return to servitude, it was inevitable.

Regulus wouldn’t be too far off the mark.

“Well that’s not ominous at all,” Potter snarked back as he shook his head slowly.

“We’ve all got a part to play,” Draco whispered. He peered up at Potter through his lashes. “Yours is set in stone.” Potter evaded the Dark Lord once, that alone showed which side he would be on.

“And you? What’s yours?”

Draco lifted his hands in the air as lost as his mind.

“I don’t know.”

Potter hummed curiously. “Only you get to decide.”

“I wish that were true,” whispered Draco, making his way toward the door.

Perhaps Potter was right. Regulus wrote something similar as well.

As Draco left the room and made his way down the hall, he paused to offer his gratitude to Potter over his shoulder.

“Did Malfoy just say thank you?”

Draco was offended by Weasley’s insinuation that he didn’t know how to be polite.

“Think he’s on the receiving end of a Cheering Charm?”

“He’d have to be smiling for that,” Granger said, her voice got softer the further Draco, Crabbe and Goyle walked away.

“Think he’s been confunded then?”

“Maybe he’s just being nice,” Potter offered.

“I reckon _you’ve_ been confunded. Hermione what’s the countercurse for–”

Draco smiled slightly as they began to bicker. Gryffindors might not be good for anything, but at least they were entertaining.

 

* * *

 

 

**Dear Cousin,**

_Some days I wonder what it would be like if I wasn’t the youngest. When I was a child, I used to resent my brother. He was the one who was going to take over the Black family line. Sirius was the one who would one day lead the family. Where would that leave me?_

_I’m the spare, the extra, the one who no one cared about as long as Sirius did what he was supposed to._

_But even early on, I knew that Sirius wouldn’t make it. My brother doesn’t have the mentality to follow rules, especially ones that have no purpose. A rule for the sake of being a rule would crumble in his presence._

_It used to make my mother furious that her oldest couldn’t behave. That kind of personality wasn’t befitting for the firstborn. If our births had been reversed, my brother would’ve been happier. He wouldn’t’ve had the pressure that my parents put on him._

_You see, I wasn’t expected to be anyone. I wasn’t expected to follow anything. I was just there, and I hated that. I needed a purpose, I needed structure._

_But Sirius? He was always a dreamer. As a kid, he used to tell me he would one day chase after dragons, or pilot muggle ships, create new spells, or even become Minister of Magic. There wasn’t a single dream that seemed outlandish to him nor could he ever make up his mind. I lost count of his many dream jobs by the time I was seven._

_I was the youngest, I was supposed to be the dreamer. I was the one who should have been carefree, but I knew that Sirius needed his imagination, because our family life wasn’t something he could live with. His dreams were what kept him going._

_But I couldn’t be a part of that. I never stopped to dream, never stopped to consider what I wanted. I couldn’t, not if Sirius was to get what he deserved in life._

_I love my brother, I do. But we are so different. He wanted the best in life, and that’s something he should get. I had to be realistic. If he wasn’t going to be the Black heir, then someone had to. Someone had to have the responsibility._

_And that was me._

_The structure that Sirius hated, was the only thing I could count on. It was a guidance that I thought I needed. When you don’t dream, then someone else’s mould becomes yours, too. I was living the life my mother wanted me to have. A life I never questioned, because surely if I was meant to be elsewhere, then Sirius would have been the one to take over._

_If I was meant to be free, then Sirius would have been there._

_I won’t lie and say I would have taken the freedom if it were offered. To me, following in my parents’ steps was the only thing I could envision. Their plans were already laid out, all I had to do was listen. I didn’t have to think, because they did it for me._

_I don’t need Sirius to tell me how dangerous that is. Because I know… at least now I do._

_Growing up with prejudiced beliefs almost desensitizes the struggles that those who are oppressed go through. I didn’t realize how bad it was until I was already too deep into the bigotry. By that time, it was too late for external change. Oh, I could change my own mind and my beliefs, but that doesn’t change the fact that I am a Death Eater._

_Death Eaters don’t wake up one day and have a change of heart. They don’t decide to suddenly have a moral backbone._

_My change was slow, and with each passing realization, the horror took over. I will never be a good person, cousin. I can’t. Not after everything, but I can be a bad person who at least is self-aware. I won’t leave this world hating Muggles or Muggleborns. I won’t leave this world destroying their lives. I won’t leave this world spewing hatred._

_Inaction can’t erase previous action, but it’s a start._

_I look to Purebloods who grew up on the Light side and wonder how we could be so different. They, too, have a love for our society, they, too, want to keep it going, but they do so with acceptance while we do it with violence._

_The stark difference will always astound me._

_My brother chose to be a Light Wizard. It never came as a surprise, no matter what my mother says. I’m proud of him, proud of his decision. Sirius stuck to his beliefs and never once wavered. He’ll be good at it, be good at being an anchor for their movement. There will come a time when we will most likely fight each other. We’re on opposing sides of a war that I fear will never end._

_I wonder if it’ll be easier to let him win._

_Would it be easier if I never questioned things? If I remained the person that I once was? I would have remained ignorant, but at least it would be with the belief that I was doing what was needed to be done._

_Changing my mind brought far more than knowledge. It brought guilt, despair and the realization that not only was I wrong, but so was my family—so was every other Dark Wizard who had the same beliefs._

_I don’t know the answer to much anymore, but I do know that I would do it all over again if it meant that Sirius didn’t have to. His dreams live on, and my family’s prejudice will die with me. That’s the only silver lining I can see._

_And I’m alright with that._

 

**Love,**

**Regulus**

* * *

 

Draco read over the letter twice as he tried to picture what Regulus would have gone through. He didn’t have any siblings, so there wasn’t much he could relate to in that aspect, but it was clear that Regulus loved his brother.

A prejudiced upbringing was something Draco knew well. An uncomfortable feeling took root, but he knew that to be uncomfortable meant something. How does one stop bigotry when it’s all they knew? It wasn’t as if he could only blame his upbringing.

Sure, his father was largely responsible, but that didn’t mean Draco _had_ to go along with it. At some point the blame was on him. His father wasn’t the one furthering the words that fell out of Draco’s mouth. His father wasn’t the one bullying those that were different.

No. It might have started as his father’s creation, but it was Draco’s own actions that continued the bigotry.

How does one change for the better? Was there a way to do that? Realization couldn’t be the only step, there were other things that he could do to genuinely change.

Draco clutched the letter tightly as he made his way out of the dorm. He ignored the way Crabbe and Goyle looked at him, he wasn’t sure how to handle them. They didn’t understand why he had started to behave differently. They looked to him for guidance on who to harm, who to make fun of and when to mouth off. But Draco didn’t want to be that person, he was already so confused with everything else and he didn’t want to have to think for them too. Couldn’t they make their own decisions?

When Draco walked into the library, he noticed that it was empty except for a few students. It took several look throughs of the shelves before he could admit that he wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

A glance towards Madam Pince showed she was watching him closely and with suspicion, but Draco wasn’t sure how to ask for what he wanted. She wasn’t exactly a nice person.

“Damnit.”

“Are you alright?”

Draco lifted his head up from where he had previously placed it in his free hand. He groaned internally at the sight of the bloody golden trio.

“Loaded question, Potter. Best not to ask.”

Potter exchanged an obvious look with the other two before he narrowed in on the letter still in Draco’s hand.

“Are you looking for something?” Granger asked as she gestured to the books Draco had haphazardly put back.

Draco’s lips thinned as he ran a hand through his hair. Granger would probably know, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to give up the pride it would cost to ask.

He closed his eyes when he realized that it wasn’t about him. None of it was. Draco knew that if he truly wanted to change, then he would have to step out of his comfort level. He needed more than one side of things, needed more than his father’s words. If Draco truly wanted to understand all parts of society, then he _needed_ more knowledge.

Draco opened his eyes to stare at Granger. “I’m looking for books on Muggleborns and maybe Muggles too.”

Granger narrowed her eyes. “What kind of books? I thought Purebloods like you knew all they needed to when it came to Muggleborns.”

That was fair. Draco bit his lip before he looked away. “I want to know more,” He whispered. “I want to read about their struggles, oppression, their lack of equality in the workplace and even in social settings. I’m looking to become more educated on the topic.”

There was a silence that settled around the already quiet library, but Draco didn’t have the bravery to see their reaction. He hadn’t wanted to talk to them in the first place.

“Why?” Weasley questioned, tone doubtful.

Draco shook his head, not willing to discuss it with someone unwilling to see it for what it was.

“His reasons don’t matter,” Granger began. “What matters is his willingness to learn.”

“But—”

Draco looked up in time to see Potter shake his head. They locked eyes and Draco wished he could say that the pleased glint was something he resented.

Granger walked to a section that Draco would have bet fifty galleons he had _already_ searched. “This is a good start.”

Draco looked at the titles with trepidation. _Duelling with Bigotry Volume I: Why I Stopped Talking to Purebloods about Prejudice._ And _Tolerance and Acceptance: A Lesson for Humanity._

“Thank you,” Draco whispered, he didn’t bother to look up as he took the books from her hands. “I don’t think I’ll be able to read both before summer holiday happens.”

“Go ahead.” Madam Pince’s voice startled Draco. “Keep them till the new year starts, I’ll remember.” The harsh glare she always had was softened by a small quirk of her lips.

Draco nodded once to Potter and Granger. He tried to nod to Weasley too, but it was more of a grimace and a jerk of his head… but it was _something_ —that had to count.

As he made his way to the counter to sign the holiday reading list, Draco couldn’t help but ask why she was allowing him to take the books.

“If the youth aren’t educated properly, history will repeat itself.”

That didn’t bode well for humanity, but Draco knew she was right. History _would_ repeat itself—something he had no control over. But perhaps Potter and Regulus were right, Draco could control his own choices—he just had to define them first.

“I’ll return them as quickly as I can,” promised Draco as he placed them in his bag along with the letter.

“When you do, I’ll send you more of a similar subject.”

When Draco looked up curiously, he was surprised to see an actual smile on her face. “Thank you.”

Madam Pince leaned forward as she beckoned him closer. “Best not tell anyone, wouldn’t want them to think I’m nice.”

Draco laughed as she winked at him before she shooed him out of the library. He sighed when he caught sight of Potter leaning against the wall, clearly Potter had waited for him.

“You know,” Potter began with a tilt of his head. “Despite your words, you seem to have already chosen who you are.”

“Well I haven’t,” Draco contradicted. “I just want to know more before I can really be certain.”

Potter’s face was filled with humour, as if he didn’t believe Draco’s statement.

“You said I was set in stone, but _you_ don’t have to be.”

Draco lifted his hands up as he tried to understand Potter’s angle. “Why do you care? I’m not a nice person, Potter. I don’t think I ever could be.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.” Potter’s laugh quickly turned into a snort that resembled a dying choke and Draco knew that it was the defining moment where Potter was truly defined as a lost cause.

“You can be a prat with morals though.”

_Morals_. Draco winced, not sure he wanted that. That was a Gryffindor tendency.

“You seem confident,” Draco said as he held the strap of his bag tighter.

“I have faith.”

“You shouldn’t.” Draco shook his head quickly. “Not when it comes to me. Other people? Maybe. But not me.”

Being a son of a Death Eater wasn’t exactly something that sparked much faith inside of Draco. Could he really walk away from what he knew his father would demand one day? Knowing and doing, were two separate things.

Potter sighed, the sound far more frustrated than Draco expected.

“How about you let me worry about that? You just do your research, and when the time comes, we’ll see for ourselves where it all falls.”

“Alright,” Draco mumbled as he shrugged once and began to walk away. “But you can’t be disappointed if I’m right. I did warn you.”

Draco wasn’t sure if Potter did respond, but he felt eyes on his back until he rounded the corner.

Faith was stupid, unwise and idiotic, but it didn’t surprise Draco that Potter did so anyway. He just wished it was on someone worthier.


	3. Draco Malfoy and the Path of Learning (Year Two)

Dobby’s behaviour turned strange as the summer went on. Draco watched him whenever he was able to, and he couldn’t figure out what the problem was. Sure, he could ask, but Dobby could be sly when needed—something Draco was rather proud of.

When Dobby entered Draco’s room with his fingers hidden in a ratty uniform, he knew something needed to change.

“What happened?”

Dobby looked down before slowly extending his hands.

The sight of long fingers bandaged rather clumsily had Draco concerned. He pulled out his potion’s kit and crouched to Dobby’s height.

“I’m waiting,” Draco prompted, wishing that Dobby would just _talk_ to him more.

“I burned Master Malfoy’s pre-supper meal.”

Draco arched his brows—annoyed that his practice hadn’t paid off yet and couldn’t master a single brow.

“You have _never_ burned a meal as long as I can remember.”

Dobby’s chest puffed out in pride before he looked to the ground as Draco began placing a healing salve on his fingers.

“Dobby was distracted.”

“Is the reason why something that you are willing to share with me?”

When Dobby looked at him in surprise, Draco’s heart clenched painfully.

“Dobby, I wouldn’t force you to tell me your secrets. That’s not—I’m not—” he closed his eyes as he realized that it wasn’t just Muggleborns and Muggles that he needed to open his horizon to. The road to understanding would be a harder path than he originally believed it to be.

“Dobby,” Draco tried again as he looked down at his fingers, not strong enough to look up. “You’ve been the only friendly face I’ve ever known. I can remember being tiny, alone and so confused. You used to charm my toys to play with me, because I didn’t have anyone else. I remember that you would sing to me—horribly—but you only stopped when father almost caught you.”

Draco blinked rapidly when large fingers tentatively touched the back of his hands. “Even if you were busy with a dozen unreasonable tasks, you always made time for me. Whether it was a new adventure that you imagined we would one day go on, or if it was gossip from the other house elves. You’re my best friend, and I’m only just now realizing how wrong that is.”

“Wrong?” Dobby whispered as his hands retreated slightly but were still in touching range.

Draco looked into Dobby’s eyes, hating that his vision became blurry. “You’re enslaved to the family. There’s no free will in anything you do. What I saw as a friendship was nothing more than me taking advantage of your kindness. Every action you take is ordered by wizards. That’s not okay, and I’ve contributed to your fate.”

Draco covered his face as the tears began to fall. “I just wanted a friend, and I made you be that for me. I’m so sorry.”

“No, Master Draco, no.”

When Draco wiped his eyes and looked up, he had to brace himself as Dobby lunged forward, arms wrapping around his neck.

“Dobby _is_ bound to the family, but Dobby is also Master Draco’s friend.”

That had Draco’s shoulders trembling. He wished it was easier to explain, wished that his own feelings weren’t so contradictory.

“But if you were free, you wouldn’t be. If society had better standards, we never would have met.”

Dobby frowned before placing his hands on his hips. “Most house elves don’t want change.”

That wasn’t unheard of, but Draco knew that was associated to hundreds of years of being conditioned to think so.

“Dobby has made peace with servitude.”

“But it shouldn’t be like that!” Draco cried, running his hands through his hair. “You shouldn’t have to make peace. You should be doing what you want, what you love to do.”

“Most house elves—”

Draco held up a hand, stalling Dobby’s statement.

“Right now, I don’t care what most house elves want. I want to know what _you_ want. Do you want freedom? Do you want the right to make your own decisions?”

Dobby’s ears drooped, and Draco’s heart clenched with the knowledge that it wouldn’t last—it couldn’t.

“Yes, but Dobby wants to be with Master Draco more.”

Draco shook his head as his heart shattered. “Even with my father’s cruelty? Even with the lack of respect? Even with your choices robbed of you?”

No words were spoken as Dobby nodded his head.

“No.” Draco couldn’t understand the logic. “I’m not worth that. I’m not worth your freedom.”

“Tis not Master Draco’s decision to make.”

“I could free you.”

Dobby shook his head firmly. “Only Master Malfoy can.”

“I’ll find a way,” Draco promised. “You deserve more than this, deserve more than to be at our beck and call. Dobby, you deserve so much more than this life.”

When bandaged hands cupped Draco’s cheeks, he wondered if that was what parents did too.

“Master Draco does too.”

Draco furrowed his brows. “I’m—”

“Worth more,” Dobby pressed, eyes pleading. “Master Draco should be free too.”

The words had Draco’s shoulders slumping. “Alright, I get it. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still find freedom. We could do it together.”

When there was no response, Draco knew it was Dobby’s way of humouring him. But denial was the only thing he could believe in. It was the only way he could see a bright future for the both of them.

Despite Dobby’s doubts, Draco would find a way to free Dobby—he had too.

 

* * *

 

Draco was taking notes as he read from the new addition of books Madam Pince sent when a _pop_ of an Apparition could be heard.

When no words were spoken, Draco knew that it was Dobby behind him. It was their unspoken rule that if Dobby was in his presence without chores needing to be done, that it was of his own volition.

He turned around, smiling softly as Dobby sat tentatively on Draco’s bed. “Tell me about your day,” he prompted.

“Not of the chores or the things father wanted. Tell me about the other house elves, or whatever interests you.” He paused before adding, “That’s not an order either. You can say nothing if you prefer.”

Dobby looked out the window as his feet swung back and forth. “Izzy and Alpsi have mated with Lola.”

Draco snapped his head up, not able to stop his mouth from parting in surprise. “No.” The word stretched out as he whispered, “But I thought that Alpsi wanted to mate with Elrin.”

“Elrin chose a Centaur.”

_“What?”_ Draco shook his head, as he tried to recall when Elrin would’ve had time for a mate not in the Manor.

“But that doesn’t make any—” Draco narrowed his eyes when Dobby’s ears wiggled. Large eyes blinked innocently, and his mouth was relaxed, but Draco knew the ears were a tell.

“You’re having me on, aren’t you?”

Dobby grinned wide, ears moving faster now that he was called out.

“You are such a prat,” Draco said as he joined Dobby on the bed.

“If Elrin isn’t with a Centaur, who did he decide to mate with?”

Dobby shook his head. “Elrin doesn’t want a mate.”

“I can respect that,” Draco mused, not entirely sure how his own future would shape out. If he were to listen to his parents, then it would be an arranged marriage—one that would benefit their family line.

“Do you want a mate?”

Dobby’s nose wrinkled slightly. “Dobby… isn’t sure. Time will tell.”

Before Draco could respond, Dobby turned to him with a serious expression as his ears drooped.

Draco knew that he was about to discover whatever Dobby had been keeping a secret. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Dobby has seen—” Dobby was cut off by a flare of magic being seared into his skin, a sign that he was going against an order from the head of house.

“Bad things—" Blue flames licked Dobby’s hands in punishment as he tried to find the right words.

“Dobby please don’t speak if it will harm you,” pleaded Draco.

Dobby leaned forward as he looked up at Draco in determination. “Sometimes, that’s when words are needed the most.”

Draco closed his eyes as he nodded slowly. “Alright, but let me try and help? Is my father planning something?”

When Dobby opened his mouth, Draco covered it until his gesture was understood.

Dobby nodded his head, wincing when magic once again encased his body, only this time the flames were drastically smaller.

“Is it bad?”

Draco didn’t need Dobby’s nod of approval to know it would be. His father never did anything good, even his charitable donations were shrouded in thinly veiled threats.

“Are we talking murder bad? Or like running for Minister of Magic bad?”

When Dobby rolled his eyes, Draco couldn’t help but smirk. “Alright sorry. Does it have anything to do with his previous crimes?”

Dobby’s eyes widened as he nodded his head so rapidly that his ears shook.

Draco dropped his hand as he thought it through, mind already numb at the realization that he would have to choose a side sooner than he thought.

“It involves the Dark Lord?”

Dobby raised a hand and shook it slightly, indicating he was close.

“What do you want to do about it?” Draco asked, unsure how to get the details out of Dobby without harming him.

“Dobby wants to warn Harry Potter.”

Draco blinked rapidly before he dramatically laid back on the bed with a flop.

“Of course you do.”

A pointed jab to his side had Draco sighing as he made room for Dobby to lay next to him. If Dobby really did want to stop whatever his father was planning, then it would make sense to go to Potter. Dumbledore’s golden boy would be the prime person to present evidence to.

“Dobby needs permission to leave.”

Draco closed his eyes as he took one mental step down the path he _could_ one day walk down.

“Dobby, warn Harry Potter.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Warning Potter?” Draco asked as he held up one hand. “And trying to prevent him from entering the platform.” He held up his other hand as he shifted them up and down. “Not seeing how the two equal up.”

Dobby looked to the ground as his ears fell. Draco knew he was going soft if pleading eyes could melt his ire.       

“No harm can happen to Harry Potter if he isn’t at Hogwarts.”

Draco snorted as Dobby tried to explain it away. “Sure, that logic is sound, but it’s not realistic. People would notice if Potter wasn’t here. Not to mention Dumbledore would have gone looking for him.”

“Dobby didn’t think of that.”

That much was obvious—however Draco didn’t say it.

“Should Dobby not have stopped Harry Potter’s mail?”

Draco dropped his hands as he stared at Dobby incredulously. “No, why would you—nevermind, I don’t want to know. No, the answer is no. You shouldn’t have stopped his mail.”

Despite the disaster of events, Draco was proud of Dobby. For once, Dobby was choosing his own actions—he was making his own mistakes and choosing what he wanted to do. Even if that meant breaking the code of servitude.

When Dobby appeared determined, Draco briefly wondered what other crazy idea he would come up with next. If Dobby wasn’t careful, he would harm Potter rather than protect him.

Would be entertaining to witness though.

 

* * *

 

 

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in. _They_ got in on pure talent,” Granger said sharply.

That stung, but Draco couldn’t ignore that his father had ensured he would make the team. As far as insults go, it was mild and easily ignored.

“No one asked your opinion, you filthy mudblood,” Flint snarled, hands clenching his broom tightly.

Draco had to step in front of Marcus to stop the Weasley twins from leaping forward.

“Don’t say that,” Draco said, knowing this was another defining moment that would shape his path.

The previous chaos stilled as everyone looked between Draco and Marcus.

Draco ignored the incredulous look from Marcus’ face as he looked to Granger. “If you want to insult her, there is an immeasurable amount of material to do so. Her lack of humour is a start, or her inability to tell the difference between the effects of Aconite powder vs liquid.”

He smirked when Granger mumbled, “It was one time.”

“But her blood status?” Draco asked as he looked back to Marcus. “That’s a cheap shot. We’re better than cheap shots.”

“Malfoy,” Marcus hissed, eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me what to do. I am the captain, you would do well to remember that.”

Draco shrugged once. As far as intimidating people went, Flint wasn’t one of them.

“You would do well to remember your _gift_ ,” He gestured towards the brooms each member of the team were sporting. “As Granger so nicely said, my father bought my way in.” Draco winked at her, knowing she would take it as the jibe that it was.

Wood cleared his throat, drawing their attention.

“Right, we’ll be going now. Since you’ve got the pitch and all.” It was said with a dark glare, and Draco rolled his eyes knowing the moron was only upset about a lack of practice. Honestly, Wood was obsessed with Quidditch, and Draco wondered how far that obsession went. It couldn’t be healthy.

When the rest of the Slytherin team took to the sky, Draco looked around the field, not surprised to see the annoying trio still there.

“You shouldn’t have stepped in,” Weasley ground out, hands clenched in his robes. “I could have hexed him.”

“Right,” Draco said slowly. “With that wand? You would have done more harm to yourself than him.”

Weasley looked as if he wanted to hex Draco, but instead stormed off the field. It was an improvement from their usual—Draco liked to think it was progress.

“You know,” Potter said as he took a small step forward. “I think this is proof that I’m winning.”

Draco rolled his eyes as he looked away. “A simple act of inaction doesn’t equate to a side.”

Granger looked between them, brows furrowing with each word they spoke.

“Inaction? I think it’s more than that,” Potter annoyingly continued. “That was the opposite of inaction. You took a stance, and that is the first step.”

“When did you become so righteous?”

Potter laughed lightly as he locked eyes with Draco. “The moment I became a Gryffindor.”

“A _foolish_ Gryffindor.”

“Perhaps.” Potter shrugged. “But you might be a brave Slytherin one day.”

“Don’t,” Draco argued, head shaking as he tried not to become angry. “Don’t speak as if you know. You can’t understand.”

“No,” Potter agreed. “But I’d like to, someday.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that. He looked into Potter’s eyes as he wondered why it all mattered. Why did Potter care? What did it matter whether Draco chose a side?

“What’s with you two?” Granger asked, speaking up for the first time. Draco was surprised at her restraint, she tended to over talk.

“Nothing.”

“Everything.”

Draco huffed at Potter’s response. Everything.

Just what did Potter think he knew?

 

* * *

 

 

“Please tell me how attacking Potter with a bludger was saving him?” Draco asked as he hid inside a passageway Dobby found. He wasn’t sure, but it looked like it went on for a while—the path could go out into the courtyard or even end up past the whomping willow.

“Attacking is a strong word,” Dobby hedged as he found a rock in the path to sit on.

Draco tried to withhold a laugh, but his shoulders shook. “What would you call it then? He’s in the hospital wing.”

Dobby’s ears fell as he looked to the ground.

“Dobby didn’t _mean_ to hurt Harry Potter. Never hurt him.”

“Well you did less damage than Lockhart,” Draco said, hoping to cheer Dobby up. “The man is an idiot.”

When Dobby’s spirits didn’t lift, Draco tried to scramble for _something_.

“You could always talk to him? Apologize?”

Dobby perked up, ears wiggling in excitement.

“Dobby could do that! And perhaps Harry Potter will forgive Dobby!”

Draco shrugged, half listening as he looked down the path. “I’m sure he would. The bleeding heart that he is.”

“And maybe Dobby can further help Harry Potter?”

Draco nodded distractedly as he realized the passage would actually end _underneath_ the whomping willow. Why would anyone want that? Briefly, he wondered if the roots were as wild as the rest of the tree.

“Wait.” Draco held up a hand, turning to Dobby. “That’s not a good—” The sound of the disapparation had him sighing. “idea,” he finished to the empty air.

If Dobby wasn’t careful, Potter would take out a restraining order.

 

* * *

 

**Dear Cousin,**

_Being raised a Black taught me to never trust, to never love, and to bury everything that isn’t conformed to being ‘pure’ in my beliefs._

_Trust. Such a vulnerable concept. We are told as Purebloods, and especially as Slytherins that to trust someone gives them power, and that we work better when the foolish trust us instead._

_But that isn’t trust. It never was. I think we have been fooled into believing that trust is a one-way path. Trust goes both ways. If only one party holds trust, then that is toxic. No wonder we are raised to crave that. No wonder we are cruel and bitter._

_Without trust, we can’t properly form relationships or rapport with others. To trust no one leads to a lonely life._

_I want to trust. I want to be vulnerable, if only for a moment. If only there was the opportunity. If only I had realized this early on._

_If only I could have changed sooner._

_My mother says that half-bloods, blood traitors and Muggleborns are ruining society by existing. The mantra of ‘pure is best’ has been shouted at me my whole life. The irony of all of this is that they believe everyone else is blind to reality. They spew the skewed vision that everyone else has conformed to their neighbour and no individuality is left._

_But can you tell me the difference between a Black and a Malfoy? The difference between a Goyle and a Crabbe? The difference between a Nott and a Yaxley? Because I sure can’t. I see the same hatred, the same anger, the same bigotry, and I see the same prejudice. So who is the true conformist? Where is their individuality that they so desperately love to preach about?_

_Love. I don’t know if my parents understand just what love is. I believe they care for me, and Sirius as well, but love? They don’t even love each other. Their marriage was arranged, their wedding planned before they could talk, and their contract held two children. I was preplanned, and never once with the intention to be loved._

_When I told you I was the spare, I was not being dramatic. I was the backup plan, and it turns out it was needed._

_My mother likes to pretend. Pretend that I was her favourite, when in all actuality, I was just itching to be wanted. I followed her footsteps, hoping that she would notice. It wasn’t until Sirius began to act out, that she knew I had an importance to her._

_For once, I mattered. I was the one who was going to lead the family into a new era._

_If only I had known what that entailed. If only I had been smart enough to question things. If only I had been more like Sirius._

_Funny how her steps seemed to disappear when she got what she wanted, and suddenly I was on a path I didn’t know, there were no directions, and I was all alone._

_I got the mark, I got the attention I desperately wanted, and for once, I was doing something that Sirius wasn’t. I was doing what I thought needed to be done._

_I was wrong. So wrong._

_I know I am repeating the same underlying message of my previous letters. But I need you to understand the importance of all of this._

_The importance of trust, the importance of love. Whether it’s familial, platonic or romantic. I need you to understand that vulnerability doesn’t have to be the enemy of your emotions._

_And the biggest message of all, is to find your own beliefs._

_Don’t let someone else choose for you. Don’t let someone else guide you down a path you aren’t aware of. Look at the facts, learn the knowledge and consciously choose who you want to be._

_You, cousin, are the innocence I wish I still had. You are a tiny life that will soon go out into the world. I hope you maintain a piece of that innocence. I hope you don’t allow the horrors of the world to erase who you are._

_I realize how biased I may seem to you, but I would never aim to make you choose. I want you to be the sole decision maker of your own life. But with informed knowledge. There is choosing who you are, and then there is choosing who you are with the understanding that comes with growing up._

_Don’t let the mistakes of your parents be your mistakes as well. Don’t let your ancestors be the voice unless it’s your voice too. Don’t let anyone choose for you._

_You be your own voice of reason. You be your own role model. You be the one to look up to. And you be the path you want to walk down._

_Just be you, cousin, I promise, it’s enough._

**Love,**

**Regulus**

* * *

 

Draco reread the letter for the fourth time as he sat on the steps of the Astronomy Tower. Regulus’ words made everything seem so _easy_. Was it easy for Regulus because he made mistakes? Was it easy to be righteous once wrong? Or was it hard to be wrong? Was there bravery in admitting one’s flaws?

Trust wasn’t something Draco had experience with. There wasn’t a single person outside of Dobby that he trusted. Was that wrong? Should Draco have made a rapport with others? He couldn’t wrap his mind around the thought of being vulnerable. By Regulus’ words it was obvious that he had never opened up to someone, so how could he preach something that never happened?

But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? He looked down at the words elegantly inked to parchment as he realized that Regulus _had_ been vulnerable—with Draco.

Could Draco do that? Could he open up to someone else? The odds weren’t high.

Choosing his own beliefs was something he was already doing. Perhaps not as quickly as others, but it was a personal battle—one that Draco was taking to heart. At the very least, Regulus had shaped the decision to choose for himself.

When the time came, Draco knew whatever choice he made, it would be of his own volition.

As Draco’s eyes skimmed the letter once more, he stopped on the one word that caused the most unease.

Love.

Regulus may have been his own person, but sometimes Draco wondered if they were the same. Regulus’ parents didn’t love each other, and neither did his own.

Sure, they pretended for the public eye, and there were times when they seemed to try, but overall, they were coexisting in the same space. Breathing the same air, but never close enough for contact.

Draco used to think his parents loved him—used to think they showed it differently. But there were only so many lies to tell before the delusion faded. They cared for what he could do for them, cared for his status as an heir and not much else.

Dobby was the one who watched him, the one who looked after him, the one who cared for him and the one who was there. The other house elves spent more time with him than his own parents. That wasn’t love, that was obligation.

In the future, love could be possible. Draco wasn’t dramatic enough to claim that he could never love or be loved by someone—but that wasn’t what was important to him. There was a whole world of issues that mattered more. Perhaps that was his age responsible for his thoughts, or a lack of interest, but it was true nonetheless.

The pitter patter of feet in the distance had Draco sitting up straighter, hands still holding the letter.

When Potter walked up the stairs, Draco relaxed minutely.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Something like that,” said Potter as he sat down next to Draco—as if this was something they did all the time.

“I hear you are Slytherin’s heir,” Draco teased, knowing that after the duel the rumours spread rapidly.

Potter huffed as he shook his head. “Idiots, the lot of them.”

“I can’t argue that,” Draco agreed as he gave Potter his full attention. “Being a Parselmouth is a gift, an honour, and it’s not something to fear.”

Potter looked up, eyes searching Draco’s face. “It doesn’t feel like a gift.”

“That’s because those who don’t understand will vilify it. Don’t let them shame you into hiding it.”

“Voldemort was a Parselmouth.”

Draco tried not to flinch at the name.

“He was also a murderer, but that has no correlation to being a Parselmouth. Dumbledore is powerful but on the wrong side of a loony bin. There’s no correlation, Potter.”

A small twitch of Potter’s lip had Draco hoping that meant the message was sticking.

“In the thirteenth century, those with the gift of being a Parselmouth were revered, and many times in a position of power.”

“I don’t want power.” Potter’s whispered voice carried, soft but firm in the passionate reply. “I just want…” He trailed off, looking down the stairs.

Draco narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t often people claimed to not want power. Everyone craved power, whether it was the power over others, power in money, power in society, power in politics, or even power in magic.

“I want to be normal.”

Draco couldn’t help but wince. “I don’t know how to do that.” Being normal would’ve been nice. Growing up, Draco used to wonder what other children did for fun, and what it was like to have a friend. Living day in and day out inside the Manor wasn’t healthy. The only times he went anywhere with his parents were if there was a charity, function or ball to go to and they needed the appearance of being a happy family.

Normal wasn’t exactly something Draco knew how to be.

“Normal sounds boring.”

Potter wrinkled his nose in response. “But maybe boring could be an adventure in its own way.”

“Is that what you want? An adventure?” Draco wondered as his mouth curled in distaste. Adventures were the spotlight, adventures were a boldness that didn’t fit who he was.

Potter shrugged once. “I just want to be somebody who can go on an adventure without being noticed.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Boring as in just another face? Boring as in an unknown name in the crowd? You want to be somebody who isn’t in the spotlight. And you don’t mean adventure in the normal way, do you?” He ignored the amused glint in Potter’s eyes as he tried to figure him out.

“You mean living. You just want to be someone who isn’t famous. A boring nobody who has the potential to do whatever they want.”

Intrigue filled Draco as Potter nodded. Most people wouldn’t wish to not be in Potter’s position.

“You can, you know?” Draco prodded. “You can walk down a different path and be that nobody. Throw away all expectations and just do whatever you want.”

Potter smiled sadly, and Draco already knew what he would say.

“I can’t do that.”

Before Draco could roll his eyes and explain that if Potter wasn’t so dense, and that of course it could be done, Potter continued.

“You told me my path was set in stone, and you were right. People look at me and they see a complete picture. They see my etched lines that _should_ be unfinished, but they’ve filled it in with colours that aren’t a part of me. It’s framed and in so many homes that finding the original is impossible.” Potter paused to shake his head and close his eyes.

“I don’t know how to be that picture, the one they all see, but yet I can’t seem to shake it either. I can’t change how they view me. The only thing I can do is try to be who they see.”

“All that is going to accomplish is to crush your spirit,” Draco argued. “You can’t be someone you aren’t. Maybe you can pretend, in the beginning, but eventually it will fail.”

“Maybe not,” Potter whispered, tone miserable.

“You are a martyr,” Draco realized in disgust. “No wonder you are a Gryffindor. Where is your self-preservation? When do you get to put yourself first?”

When Potter didn’t answer, Draco shook his head. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

“Does anyone?”

Draco acknowledged that with a tilt of his head. Potter had a point. “Perhaps this will be the path you need. Or maybe it’s the one you will wish you hadn’t gone down.”

“Mistakes are inevitable,” Potter said as they locked eyes. “Even if this is a mistake, then it’s one that I can always fix later on. No path is irreversible.”

“That’s where you are wrong,” Draco whispered, eyes falling to the letter as he thought of the path Regulus walked down. “Some things can’t be fixed.”

Draco stood up, noticing that Potter was looking at the letter curiously. “You can regret things, and even realize that you’ve made a mistake. But there are some things that can’t be redeemed.”

“I disagree,” Potter called out as Draco walked down the stairs. “Everyone deserves redemption.”

Did they? Draco wondered if Regulus ever found redemption. Perhaps nothing public, but maybe personal? Did Regulus ever find his own personal redemption?

 

* * *

 

 

Draco grabbed a book on the history of imprisoned Muggles during the Global Wizarding War and set out to find an alcove where he could read in peace when he came across Granger, Potter and Weasley surrounded by a mountain of books.

“Year end tests aren’t this dire.”

Potter looked up with a small quirk of his lips. “Leisurely reading.”

The lie almost had Draco snorting as he ignored Granger and Weasley’s curious looks. “If you say so, Potter.”

Just when Draco was about to turn away and continue on, Potter said, “I hear you are Slytherin’s heir.”

_“Harry,”_ Granger hissed at the same time Weasley kicked Potter’s leg.

Draco couldn’t withhold a snort. He knew Potter was only teasing, perhaps to get him back.

“I’m the heir of many things,” Draco whispered, winking when Weasley sat up straighter as if he really was the heir of Slytherin. “I’m the heir of a Death Eater, an heir of entitlement, and even the heir of privilege, but not Slytherin’s heir.”

“I think you left out the heir of bad taste.” Potter teased, grinning when Draco scowled.

“Excuse you, but have you ever looked in a mirror? Those with horrendous hair cannot condemn others.”

Draco turned around with a dramatic flourish as he hoped his cloak hit Potter in the process and walked away.

“What just happened?” Weasley’s voice carried as Draco walked through the rows. “We didn’t even find out if Malfoy really is the heir.”

“Malfoy was never the heir,” Potter argued. “That much is clear.”

Draco wasn’t sure what Weasley said in response, but he wasn’t surprised that they were trying to figure it out.

Meddling Gryffindors with no sense of self-preservation.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco felt a little pity as Potter was forced to listen to his Valentine in public. But really, he was just amused. It wasn’t until he looked down at his feet and noticed a diary that his amusement faded into confusion.

He picked up the book and wondered why it looked familiar. The pages were empty, and the cover was old, but it still felt as if Draco should recognize it.

Draco bit his lip as he tried to force his recollection, but his mind was coming up blank.

“Give that back.”

Potter’s voice was quiet, and it startled Draco out of his reverie. He blinked up at Potter, curious as to why he seemed worried.

Draco handed the book over, distracted enough to offer an apology, something a few onlookers seemed surprised to pick up on.

Before Draco took off, he shot the diary in Potter’s hand one last lingering look.

 

* * *

 

 

“Should Dobby visit Harry Potter?”

“Absolutely not,” Draco said as he sent cleaning charms around the secret passageway he decided to claim as his own. If Dobby tried to help Potter anymore, it might actually kill him.

When Dobby looked disheartened, Draco sighed heavily. “Perhaps at the end of the year? A goodbye greeting?”

Dobby clapped his hands, excitement nearly infectious. “Dobby can do that!”

“Hey Dobby,” Draco began hesitantly. “Do you know anything about an old diary?”

Dobby’s hands fell, the smile leaving his face instantly as his ears drooped.

“Is this what you couldn’t tell me? Is that diary my fathers? Has he caused the whole thing?”

When Dobby’s eyes wouldn’t meet his own, Draco swore loudly. “Potter has the diary.”

Dobby gasped loudly as he shook his head. “No, no. Master Draco, Harry Potter is in grave danger!”

Draco closed his eyes as he tried not to hesitate. Did that make him a bad person? If he did nothing, it would be exactly what his father would want. If he did nothing, there could be no fallout that would harm him. If he did nothing, he would simply be an observer.

But is that what he wanted?

The path that would define his future was shaping with each decision Draco made, and he knew that this would be a large stone, one that would leave a layout for the rest.

There had never been any question, not really. Draco hated that his own self-preservation seemed to disappear when Potter was involved.

Draco stood up quickly as he exited the passageway. He had a reckless Gryffindor to find.

 

* * *

 

“Potter!”

A few heads turned, probably hoping to see a fight—something that hadn’t happened since the beginning of their first year.

Potter looked… well… crushed. Draco tried to recall if anything had happened, but his mind was blank.

“You heard about Hermione, then?”

Draco blinked rapidly. “Granger? No, has something happened?”

“She’s been petrified.”

Draco took a step back. He took a deep breath before grabbing hold of Potter’s sleeve and dragging him to an empty classroom.

“I’m sorry about Granger, I am, but this just makes it all that much more important.”

“If you didn’t know about Hermione, then why did you want to talk to me?”

Draco closed his eyes before looking to Potter. “That diary you have, that belonged to my father.”

“What?” Potter took a step back, expression closing off.

“I didn’t know that,” Draco promised, not liking the distance. “I’ve only just found out. I don’t know what it does, but I can promise you that it’s nothing good. You need to get rid of it.”

A silence stretched between them, it was stifling and had Draco shifting slightly in unease.

“Someone’s stolen it.”

_“What?”_

Potter looked away as he shook his head. “It had to have been someone in Gryffindor. They are the only ones who know the password. All I know is that the book is gone.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to say. Warning Potter was the extent of his help—he didn’t want to do much else.

“I’ve got a plan though,” Potter continued. “I’ve got to talk to Hagrid first though.”

“You have a plan,” Draco drawled unimpressed. “That worries me.”

Potter rolled his eyes before opening the door.

“Thank you, Malfoy. You can be a good guy. When you want to be.”

“If that leaves this room, I will murder you Potter and blame it on the monster that resides in the Chamber!”

The sound of Potter’s laugh echoed in the empty room, and Draco wished it wasn’t comforting.

Perhaps Potter really did have a plan.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco knocked on Severus’ office door, annoyed that his head of house interrupted his studying.

“Come in.”

When Draco pushed open the door, he saw a chair waiting for him. He sighed, knowing it meant he would be expected to linger.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Warrick has informed me that you hexed Zabini earlier.”

Draco feigned surprise. “Such an accusation is harmful when inaccurate.”

Severus’ lips twitched as he folded his hands on the desk. “Zabini has since informed me that it was unprovoked.”

Draco looked away, hating that the action would give him away.

“Care to tell me why you aren’t using such talents on other students? Gryffindors perhaps?” The question was more teasing than anything, but Draco wasn’t in the mood.

“Zabini was talking about the attacks, sir. Said it was justice for them being muggleborn. Only, he didn’t call them that.”

“He called them mudbloods.”

Draco nodded tersely, wishing he could ignore the calculating look in Severus’ eyes.

“I am surprised you are taking offence. Especially given your own upbringing.”

Draco clenched his fists. “I can think for myself, you know.”

“Can you?”

When Draco glared darkly, Severus smirked openly.

“What has brought out this change, Draco?”

Draco lifted one shoulder, not ready to answer that.

“Is it Potter?”

That had Draco’s brows furrowing. “Potter has nothing to do with this.” The lie was minimal—but not worth thinking about. Potter wasn’t responsible for Draco’s thoughts.

“Something has happened for you to take up this change. If I have noticed, so will your father.”

A harsh scoff left Draco as he glared at the wall behind Severus.

“Father would have to be around to notice anything.”

When Severus’ eyes turned soft, Draco had to fight the urge to get angry. He didn’t want to be pitied.

Draco stood up, not wanting to discuss his father much further.

“I will make my own choices. If I do something, it’s going to be of my own accord. If that means hexing prejudiced tossers, then so be it.”

As Draco closed the door, he heard Severus softly exhale, “Ten points to Slytherin.”

 

* * *

 

 

Draco ran down the corridor, pushing past students as he desperately tried to find Dobby. The link was broken, and that could only mean one of two things. Either Dobby was freed, or something had happened to him.

The pull of Dobby’s magic had disappeared near Dumbledore’s office, Draco just hoped he would still be there.

As he rounded the corner and caught sight of large eyes, he let out a little noise of relief.

“Master Draco!” Dobby yelled as he wrapped his arms around Draco’s knees.

Draco panted as he tried to calm his heart after running. He looked around, expecting to see his father, but was surprised to see Potter watching them with arched brows.

“Dobby what happened? I felt the bond break.”

Dobby took a step back as he looked to the ground, lip trembling. “Harry Potter freed Dobby.”

Draco took in a shaky breath as he knelt down to peer into Dobby’s eyes. “Did he now?” He hated the way his voice cracked.

“Dobby is torn.”

“It’s okay to want freedom,” Draco promised. “I told you that I would find a way to free you, but it looks like that was unnecessary.”

“But Dobby wants to stay with Master Draco,” Dobby cried, ears falling as his eyes filled with tears. “Master Draco _needs_ Dobby.”

Draco laughed, but it was wet and slightly hysterical. “Yes, I do, but not at the risk of your freedom. Dobby, you deserve this, you deserve to be free. You always have.”

“Master Draco is Dobby’s best friend.”

Draco closed his eyes as they began to sting. “I know, and you know that you are mine as well. I’ll miss you.”

Dobby flung forward, wrapping his arms around Draco’s neck. Draco held on tightly as he wondered if this would be the last time they saw each other.

“Please visit me,” Draco begged. “I can handle father, I can handle being alone, I can handle the other house elves, but I can’t handle the thought of never seeing you again.”

Draco pulled back enough to look into Dobby’s eyes—hating that his own were blurry.

“Dobby promises! Master Draco isn’t alone, Dobby will always visit. Master Draco is family.”

The tears fell despite Draco’s valiant efforts. “You’re the only family I got,” Draco whispered. “The only true family.”

Dobby’s fingers wiped Draco’s tears away and the action caused more to fall.

“Who’s going to tell me when I’m being stupid?” Draco asked, hating that for Dobby to have freedom, he had to lose his only friend.

“Who’s going to gossip about the other house elves with me? I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

A wounded noise left Dobby as he held onto Draco again.

“Who’s going to treat Dobby with respect without Master Draco?” Dobby asked quietly.

“Oh Dobby.” Draco squeezed Dobby tightly. “If they don’t treat you with respect, don’t work for them. You aren’t someone to be ordered around. You are worth _so_ much.”

“So is Master Draco.”

Draco closed his eyes, fighting back a whimper as he let Dobby go and wiped his eyes.

“You should go,” Draco said as he reached forward to wipe Dobby’s eyes. “Before my father comes back.” It was always a possibility, but Draco doubted it. His father wasn’t one to continue after losing.

Dobby looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded his head anyway and left with a small crack of a disapparation.

Draco sagged with Dobby gone, not sure he could keep it together. It was hard to be happy for Dobby when it felt like Draco’s world was crumbling, but he was—Dobby really did deserve the world, and Draco was just glad it was finally happening.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy.”

Potter’s voice startled Draco as he blinked up, eyes stinging.

“If I had known—I wouldn’t have—”

“Thank you,” Draco interrupted as he wiped his eyes. “Thank you for freeing him. I couldn’t do it, but you did, and I can’t stress how much that means to me.”

Potter’s eyes looked a little wet, but Draco wasn’t in a position to judge.

Draco got up, wishing he hadn’t lost control in front of Potter, but there was nothing to be done about it.

As Draco turned around to leave, Potter’s voice stilled him.

“Dobby was right. You aren’t alone.”

“It feels like I am,” Draco whispered, not looking back as he continued forward, wondering if the rest of his path would be like this.

Alone.


	4. Draco Malfoy and the Path of Friendship (Year Three)

“Master Draco has been summoned.”

Draco looked to Alpsi, wishing the sting of Dobby’s absence didn’t hurt.

“My father?”

Alpsi nodded once before leaving immediately. Draco looked to the ceiling as he tried not to wonder what his friend was up to. Had Dobby found a new job? Did his new family care for him as much as Draco did? Were they taking care of him?

Draco forced himself to get up and leave his pain behind as he allowed an emptiness to settle inside of him. It would be necessary to talk to his father.

As Draco entered his father’s study, he tried not to fidget when cold eyes regarded him intently. He looked around and wasn’t surprised to see his mother standing near the only window; she was a silent observer and never spoke up when it got rough.

“I’ve received your grades.”

The tone had Draco confused, his grades were fine, great even.

“It’s not good enough.”

Of course not. Draco closed his eyes. Nothing was ever good enough.

“Some of your scores have you as the highest in the class, as it should be, but others have you coming in second to the mudblood.”

Draco clenched his fingers as he bit his tongue to stop the reprimand he wanted to give.

“That is not acceptable. No son of mine is going to be second-rate in comparison to someone like _that.”_

“My scores are really good,” Draco whispered, eyes trained on the ground. “I think that—”

“I didn’t ask what you thought. I could care less about what you think.”

The sound of a hand slamming against a desk had Draco flinching.

“I’m sorry—” Draco was cut off by another slam.

“I didn’t ask you to speak, Draco. Just listen. Why is that such a hard concept? Just do as you are told.”

Draco nodded, hating that he couldn’t look to his father, didn’t want to see the hatred that was there.

“You will do better. I will be getting reports during your upcoming year and if there isn’t an improvement, then we will have another discussion—only one not as pleasant as this.”

Pleasant. What a joke. Draco nodded, knowing that if he said anything, his father wouldn’t react well.

“Well, what do you have to say? You speak when I talk to you.”

Draco glared at the ground before he schooled his features into a blank mask as he looked up at his father.

It was a trap, and he knew it. There was no right answer when it came to his father. If he spoke up, he would be going against the earlier order; but if he didn’t reply, then he would be in trouble either way.

“Yes, father. I’ll be better.”

When his father stood up, Draco closed his eyes not wanting to see the satisfaction in his eyes as he advanced.

 

* * *

 

Draco walked the streets of Diagon Alley, not really paying any mind to anything in particular—just grateful for the opportunity to shop alone.

He had half a mind to retire early and return to the Manor, but his father was home for the day, and that wasn’t something Draco wanted to subject himself to.

It wasn’t until Draco caught sight of a familiar mop of messy hair that he knew his day would get interesting.

“Fancy seeing you _actually_ doing homework,” Draco remarked as Potter jumped in his seat and shot him a weak glare. He looked around, curious as to why Potter was doing work outside of an ice cream parlour, but to each their own.

“I will have you know that I do all of my homework.”

When Draco arched a brow—grateful that his practice had paid off and it worked—Potter shrugged sheepishly.

“Alright, sometimes Hermione helps.”

“Now _that_ , I can believe.”

Potter searched Draco’s face and it had him wary.

“How are you?”

“Fine,” Draco replied curtly, not wanting to talk about Dobby, and that face of concern could only lead in one direction.

Potter sighed, clearly not believing him. “Alright. If you say so.”

Draco cleared his throat before changing the subject. “I should be asking _you_ , how you are. I hear you blow up relatives in your spare time.”

“I wish,” Potter mumbled darkly.

There was a story there, Draco knew it. There was no love lost, that’s for sure. Was that why Potter spent so much time with the Weasleys?

“Do your relatives—are they—” Draco was cut off by a raised hand.

“In any case, I didn’t get in trouble.”

Draco didn’t care for being cut off but could recognize that Potter didn’t want to talk about it. Potter had been understanding earlier, so he chose to return the favour in kind.

“Of course you didn’t. You _are_ saint Potter after all.”

Potter’s lips quirked slightly. “It’s been awhile since I’ve heard that.”

“Are you getting sentimental? You daft idiot.”

“Well not anymore you prick.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh. Sometimes, it felt like all he had going for him was baiting Potter. How pathetic.

“I do have to admit that I was surprised there was no public censure,” Draco mused, pushing all thoughts of comfort at their comradery away.

“The Minister was waiting for me here,” Potter began as he looked down to his homework and started flipping through the pages.

Draco frowned, eyes narrowing at the statement. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I thought that too,” said Potter, half immersed in a Charms essay. “But then he started talking about Black and it made even less sense.”

Draco’s breath left him in a whoosh. “Black. As in Sirius Black?”

Potter looked up, eyes already narrowed on Draco’s face.

“Said he escaped Azkaban.”

That, Draco had already known. But for the Minister to talk to Potter about it didn’t make sense. Something was going on, and Draco didn’t like it.

“Do you know much about Black?” Potter asked, suspicion in his tone.

“He’s my cousin, sort of, on my mother’s side.”

Potter blinked rapidly, a sight that had a small smirk forming on Draco’s lips.

“They say he’s a murderer,” Potter whispered as his eyes looked around the area.

“I’ve got it on good authority that he’s not.”

Potter leaned back and let out a low whistle. “What authority?”

Draco shrugged, not wanting to show his hand early. Besides, it wasn’t as if Severus’ opinion would hold that much weight. Facts and opinions were two separate things.

“Perhaps you should look into it yourself,” Draco offered. “Knowledge carries more truth than word of mouth.”

Before Potter could respond, a loud shout could be heard.

“Harry! Harry!”

They both turned to see Granger and Weasley making their way to the shop.

Draco stood up, trying not to be disappointed.

“I best be going,” Draco said, closing his cloak tighter around him. “It was nice talking to you, Potter.”

“Can’t exactly say the same, Malfoy.” It was said with a teasing smirk—something Draco wasn’t sure what to do with.

“Now who’s the prick?” Draco questioned before walking away, the sound of Potter’s laughter trailing after him.

Interesting day indeed.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco wasn’t sure what to expect for his first Care of Magical Creature lesson, but what he got wasn’t it. Hagrid had never exactly had his confidence, but he was open to trying. Mostly.

Hippogriffs? That was advanced for third years—at least for a first lesson.

He bowed to the Hippogriff, not wanting to subject himself to any harm. But Draco hadn’t counted on his mutterings and sarcasm to be his downfall.

“This is bloody stupid,” Draco whispered, hand raised to warily pat the Hippogriff’s head. “I’m sure you’re nice, you don’t really look it, but looks can be deceiving.”

The narrowing of the Hippogriff’s eyes should have been warning enough, but Dobby always did tell Draco he could be stupid at times.

“Potter managed to charm you. Not that that is surprising. He seems the type to be able to charm a Bowtruckle off a tree too. Merlin, that must make you easily susceptible. Although if that’s the case, what does that say about me?”

Part of Draco realized that he must need human interaction more if he was really talking to the Hippogriff.

“I suppose it’s not really your fault. Even the smartest of beings aren’t infallible. Personally, I think you need to buck up, because trusting just anyone can get you in trouble. Being gullible isn’t a good thing, you know. What was your name again? Probably something outlandish, really. And I think that—”

Draco took a step back when the Hippogriff swiped a warning paw at him. If he had sidestepped a fraction of a second sooner, it wouldn’t have hit him, but it wasn’t anything but a deep scratch.

“Fuck,” Draco swore louder than intended as the blood swelled to droplets.

Hagrid had the Hippogriff by the collar before Draco could even wipe the blood away. The action had the creature trying to get free as it made a startled noise.

“Someone help me,” Hagrid called over his shoulder. “Gotta get him outta here.”

Before Draco could decline, he was picked up by large hands.

“Oi! I can walk, you know.”

The sounds of his classmates talking at once had Draco sighing as Hagrid carried him to the Hospital Wing.

Talk about embarrassing.

 

* * *

 

 

“He doesn’t need to know,” Draco said to Madam Pomfrey, eyes pleading as he tried not to fidget on the hospital wing bed.

“Mister Malfoy,” Pomfrey started with a sigh. “The school rules require any hospital wing visit to be notified back to the parents. I am sorry, but your father _does_ need to be notified.”

Draco closed his eyes, hating the rules. How come Potter could break every single bloody school rule, but he couldn’t bend just one?

“Not to worry, dear. I’m sure your father will be pleased to hear you are alright.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed for show, voice hollow. “He’ll be pleased.”

Pleased to make a spectacle, pleased to overreact, pleased to blame everyone but Draco, pleased to be an arse.

Pleased. _Right_.

If there was one thing Lucius Malfoy wasn’t, that would be pleased. Draco wasn’t sure it was in his vocabulary.

He slumped against the bed as he wished for just a moment that he could suspend time and just exist without worrying about anything.

Maybe the Hippogriff should have just put him out of his misery. It certainly would have made things easier for everyone.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco stared at the wardrobe passively as he tried to stop the horror from mounting. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was getting in front of that. The other students were running around in excitement, laughing over their peers’ fears, as if that was _fun_.

He shook his head when Goyle lifted a hand to push someone out of line for Draco. When both Crabbe and Goyle frowned, Draco made his way to the end of the line and allowed others to go before him.

When Weasley’s fear turned out to be spiders, Draco wished he wasn’t envious. Arachnophobia was common, something a substantial portion of society also had. That was a safe fear, a fear that didn’t need an explanation and wouldn’t draw attention to anything.

He watched each new fear with growing self-hatred. Why couldn’t Draco be like that? Why couldn’t he too have a normal fear?

As Longbottom came to stand near the end, giving room to all those who still needed to go, Draco bit his lip in indecision.

“Longbottom.”

Draco waited until suspicious eyes regarded him warily before he whispered, “Was it hard dispelling a person? Not an animal, creature or nightmare, but one that took on the form of a real person. One you know.”

Longbottom narrowed his eyes, and Draco hoped it was of confusion. Longbottom regarded Draco for a long time, far too long to be polite, but he wasn’t sure what it all meant.

“I didn’t know it would be him,” Longbottom finally settled on. “It could have been my Gran too.”

Draco closed his eyes in understanding as he nodded his head. It would seem their family lives weren’t all that different from each other. “Would you rather it had been her?”

“No.” It was whispered quietly, so soft that Draco had to lean forward to listen. “I can make a joke of Snape, pass it off as taking the mickey, but I can’t laugh away my Gran.”

When Draco opened his eyes, he could see understanding in Longbottom’s eyes, and he hated it. Hated that someone understood that part of him, understood the vulnerability.

“Is it weird that I’m relieved?” Longbottom asked, eyes looking past Draco towards the wardrobe where Finnigan was facing a Banshee. “Snape is a fear that I can handle. He’s rude, abrasive, and mean. It’s not unusual to have someone fear him. But family? That sparks attention—attention I don’t want.”

“No, I get it,” Draco whispered, hating the near crack of his voice. All he wanted was a normal fear. Anything.

A commotion drew their attention to Lupin standing in front of Potter as a white orb became the Boggart’s shape.

Draco furrowed his brows as the possibilities started to enter his mind.

“Forward, Malfoy, and finish it off.”

Draco stood frozen as a dozen eyes looked toward him. No. He couldn’t do it. He was about to take a step back when Longbottom surged forward with a look of determination on his face.

The Boggart once again took on the form of Snape and Draco selfishly relaxed, thankful for Longbottom.

“Riddikulus!” Longbottom yelled before Snape disappeared in another show of a lacy dress. A triumphant cry of laughter left Longbottom and Draco couldn’t help but smile slightly.

The class clapped as the ending drew near and the wardrobe was locked away before Lupin gave out points to those who either faced the Boggart or answered questions correctly.

As Draco made his way to the door, a call of his name had him sighing before he sidestepped and allowed the other students to leave first.

“Malfoy,” Lupin called again, with more authority. “If you could stay behind, please.”

Draco nodded as the last student left and closed the door.

“I would like to know why you allowed Longbottom to finish what I asked you to do.”

Draco looked to the ground, uncomfortable as he wished he was anywhere else.

“I already know what my fear is, sir, and I didn’t want to see it.”

Lupin didn’t say anything until Draco looked up. There was a small frown marring his features, but he wasn’t overly kind.

“That doesn’t explain anything. I’m sure half the students today knew their fear and faced it anyway.”

“Yeah, _Gryffindors_ ,” Draco snarked, forgetting his place.

When Lupin arched his brows, Draco sighed. He knew blaming their bravery would get him nowhere.

“Patil was afraid of a mummy,” Draco began as he tried to get Lupin to understand. “Thomas was afraid of a severed hand. Weasley was afraid of spiders, and Finnigan was afraid of a Banshee.”

Lupin lifted a hand forward, gesturing for Draco to continue.

“Those are normal. Those can be expected.”

Draco closed his eyes before switching tactics.

“Do you know who my father is?”

Lupin stood up straighter, indignation taking root. “Mister Malfoy, if you are trying to threaten me—”

A frustrated huff left Draco’s mouth at the accusation. It wasn’t as if it was an outlandish question. Not with the way things were handled with Hagrid.

“Professor,” Draco interrupted, looking away from angry eyes. “I didn’t want the other students to have to meet him too.”

A stifling silence filled the room and Draco hated it.

“I have to face that on a daily basis at home. Please don’t make me face it here too. _Please_.”

“Malfoy—”

Draco looked up, eyes stinging. “I’ll do extra homework, I’ll write longer essays, I’ll do anything you want. But I can’t go up there. I can’t. Please don’t ask that of me.”

The way Lupin’s face crumpled had Draco closing his eyes, bitter tears escaping. He didn’t want pity, didn’t want understanding. He just wanted to be left alone, and not have to own up to anything.

“Can you handle the theory of the spell? Will the study suffice?”

Draco nodded his head as he tried to wipe his eyes without being noticed.

“The end of the year exam will require a review of all that we have learned, and this will be mandatory. I can’t have you backing out then.”

The end of the year was a lot better than Draco expected. He could procrastinate it all, possibly even pretend everything was fine as long as he didn’t have to face a Boggart any time soon.

“But I’ll allow that to be one on one, alright?” Lupin asked hand briefly coming up as if to comfort before it fell. “No other student will see your Boggart.”

“Thank you,” Draco whispered, not meeting Lupin’s eyes.

“For what it’s worth,” Lupin called as Draco walked to the door. “I think you would have gotten rid of the Boggart.”

The confidence was surprising, and it drew a small smile from Draco.

It was nice to be believed in.

As Draco left the classroom, an owl’s hoot had him looking up in time to see the bird drop an envelope on his head.

With the hall empty, Draco wasted no time in tearing it open.

 

* * *

 

 

**Dear cousin,**

_Life is lonely. Am I projecting my own emotions, or do I mean that in general? I don’t know. I would like to think that life itself isn’t lonely—that there is always someone to ease the burden, but without the personal experience I am left unsure._

_Perhaps it’s just me. Maybe I’m the outlier of life. Alone, and destined to stay that way._

_I had a friend once. Severus. You probably know him, he always was close to your father. Well, as close a brown noser can be._

_Severus questioned things far easier than I ever did, but his obligation to the Dark Lord was a personal matter and less of a familial obligation. People underestimate him. I know I did._

_When friendships end, that’s a heartbreak no one prepares you for. Sure, you hear mentions of relationships failing as you grow, that’s always something that’s talked about. But why is that no one mentions the crushing grief of losing someone who knew you better than you knew yourself?_

_Most people at 16 fall in love or discover the very beginnings of who they might be when they grow up. At 16, my brother ran away from home. When I turned 16, I became a Death Eater. Strange that I happened to become one before Severus. But it wasn’t by much. By the time he entered and realized just what we signed away our lives for, it was too late for the both of us._

_A kinship between lost souls could be what described us. Merlin, I’ve never known someone like I did with Severus. He was my rock when I thought I had none._

_But even in a current, rocks move._

_How do you save someone who doesn’t want to be saved? How do you save yourself when the self-awareness begins to fade?_

_Knowing we were wrong couldn’t change the outcome. But I fear that it will affect him more so than me. I want more for him, I want Severus to leave, I want him to have a different life._

_But Death Eaters don’t get second chances._

_I think Severus being a questioner first led to quicker epiphanies. By the time I wanted to question our existence, he had already settled into our fate—already given up._

_That was our discord. That was our unfortunate end. I needed to be able to voice my thoughts, fears and doubts, but his had already passed. Severus was no longer the support I could go to._

_I don’t blame him. Never could._

_Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you had made better choices? Or if there was ever a moment when you wish you had done something else?_

_Because I do. All the time._

_I wonder if I had tried harder whether or not I’d still have my brother in my life. If I had just said something to Severus, maybe he would have stuck around longer. If I had just thought for myself, then maybe I’d stick around to see the end of the war._

_But I didn’t. And now I’m alone. So alone._

_I just want someone to be there for me. To listen as I speak, and not to judge as harshly as I judge myself._

_Perhaps that’s why I write to you. I don’t have to worry what you think, because I know deep in my heart that I won’t live to see either side win. I won’t be around to hear you judge me—even though I hope you don’t think negatively._

_I write to you because I have no one else, cousin. The solace I gain from these letters is the only thing keeping me upright._

_Everyone needs someone to talk to. Fortunately, all I need is someone to write to._

_Thank you for this. Even if none of these make it to you, please note that you bring me comfort when I didn’t think there was any left in the world. As cathartic as it is to write down my fears, I pray that you have none._

_I pray that the world is what it should be, and not something that repeats itself in the horrors. As much as I hope my words could potentially teach you something, I pray they are not needed._

_Either way, I pray for you, cousin, you are in my thoughts._

 

**Love,**

**Regulus**

* * *

 

Draco stared at the letter as his mind raced. Regulus had been friends with Severus? Was that why his godfather hadn’t wanted to talk about Regulus’ death?

Did Severus know more about Regulus than what had already been said? Draco wasn’t sure what to think. Going to Severus with questions would only complicate things, especially considering Severus certainly hadn’t let their friendship status be known.

Drawing attention to the letters wouldn’t end well. Part of Draco wanted to hoard the knowledge and never let go, but he knew that one day it would be revealed. It had to. Severus deserved to hear about the latest letter—or any of them really.

Just not anytime soon.

As Draco looked down and caught sight of the letter, he felt a kinship spread. Alone. Regulus had been alone too. How could the parallels be so similar? Was Draco destined to follow in his cousin’s steps? Become a Death Eater at 16 too? Is that what destiny had in store for him?

Or was it all just a coincidence? Were the letters warring with destiny and showing that perhaps his fate was in his own hands? Or was fate just a synonym of destiny and neither mattered in the end?

He wished it wasn’t so complicated. The more he got to know Regulus, the more he mourned the person he would never meet.

_Death Eaters don’t get second chances_. The words struck a chord inside of Draco.

Well, why not? Why couldn’t Regulus have been given a shot? Someone so self-aware, and so willing to go the lengths in personal redemption, _should_ have been given a chance.

Hatred for the Dark Lord welled up strongly. How could one madman have caused so much desolation? How could a single human being be the source of such evil and strife? And _why_? Why had it happened in the first place?

Was it power?

If the Dark Lord had no power, then his words would hold no meaning. There would be no followers, there would be nothing but the idea of a movement—a movement that would accomplish nothing.

What gave the Dark Lord power? What allowed such ideas to take root and spread? Was it society? Was it a lack of empathy in the community? How had the prejudiced mentalities scattered in such a detrimental way?

If someone as evil as the Dark Lord could use power to change the mindset of some, then surely, there was someone who could counter that. There had to be a way to change the minds of those with bigoted opinions.

_How do you save someone who doesn’t want to be saved?_

Draco didn’t have the answer to that, and neither did Regulus. Perhaps that was the problem. Simply acknowledging the bigotry of the world wasn’t enough if those individuals didn’t want to change.

Knowledge, he supposed. If the younger generations were taught well, and shown the proper way of treating others, then that would spread. That would be mainstream beliefs.

That was the movement the Wizarding world needed. Draco wasn’t sure how to achieve that or how to achieve the first step in moving it forward, but it _was_ a beginning.

He placed the letter in his bag as he thought over Regulus’ emphasis on not going on alone. He wasn’t entirely sure he could do that.

Going alone was all he had known. Without Dobby, Draco truly felt alone.

Friend… such a complex concept. Being there for someone was as scary as allowing them in. He wasn’t sure he could do it.

Who would even want to be his friend?

With the previous lesson in mind, Draco smiled slightly as he left the hall as quickly as he could.

Draco ran down the stairs as he hoped the rest of the class wouldn’t have gone too far.

“Longbottom!” Draco yelled loudly as the majority of those in the class were making their way into the Great Hall for lunch.

His yell drew the attention of those in the corridor, most being Gryffindors, but Draco paid them no mind.

When they were a few feet apart, he lowered his voice.

“Thank you, for what you did back there.”

Longbottom smiled. “Don’t worry about it, it was nothing.”

“No.” Draco reached out to stop Longbottom from leaving—the action caused a few Gryffindors to narrow their eyes.

“It wasn’t nothing. It meant a lot to me. If I was someone else, I might even hug you over it.”

Longbottom’s grin grew and that was the only warning Draco had before he was suddenly hugged tightly.

Draco’s face must have reflected the same shock of those around him.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for our first year,” Longbottom whispered in his ear, arms still around Draco. “But I’m willing to listen to you grovel.”

A startled laugh left Draco before he patted Longbottom on the back.

“You are something else, Longbottom. Sappiest Gryffindor I’ve ever encountered.”

Longbottom stepped back, face happier than Draco could remember seeing in a long while.

“I was supposed to be in Hufflepuff,” Longbottom whispered as if it were a secret.

“I hate to break it to you, but that surprises no one.”

Longbottom laughed lightly, but also freely. “I might take that as a compliment.”

“You should,” Draco supplied, smiling himself. “You really should.”

“You know,” Longbottom began, a mischievous glint to his eyes. “I’m in the market for a Slytherin friend.”

Draco looked down, face heating up slightly at the audience. He wasn’t used to friends—wasn’t used to anyone wanting to _be_ his friend.

“What’s the pay like?” Draco asked, a decision already made.

Longbottom waved away the question with a wave of his hand. “It’s terrible, but the benefits outweigh that.”

“Oh yeah?” Draco asked as he stepped closer to Longbottom and gestured for them to keep walking. “What kind of benefits?”

“Hugs. Loads of them. All the time.”

Draco hesitated once inside as more students stared at them. He looked to the Gryffindor table, unsure if he could sit there. Before he could suggest they eat in the kitchens, Longbottom made the decision for him by walking to an empty side of the Slytherin table.

“Just hugs? Doesn’t sound like a benefit to me.”

“Well, no one asked you.”

Draco laughed, and he wondered how he could have missed Longbottom’s personality before now.

“There are benefits to having a Gryffindor friend,” Longbottom continued. “We’re loyal.”

“You’re also reckless, brash, wild, and incorrigible,” Draco supplied as he looked to the Gryffindor table and locked eyes with Potter.

When nothing was said, Draco looked away from Potter and noticed an amused smile on Longbottom’s face.

“That explains a lot.”

Draco furrowed his brows, wondering what Longbottom could be talking about. Before he could ask, the subject was changed.

“Regardless, you could use some Gryffindor backup.”

Backup for what, Draco wasn’t sure. But it was nice that it was offered.

“I’m a bad influence,” Draco warned.

Longbottom shrugged, indifferent expression in place.

“People won’t get it.”

Longbottom scoffed harshly.

“I’m not nice.”

Longbottom snorted harder than Draco cared to admit.

“I might be a bad friend,” he finally said, not able to look at Longbottom anymore.

“We won’t know till you try, right?”

“There’s the Hufflepuff in you.”

Longbottom shoved him lightly but regarded him evenly.

“Yeah, alright,” Draco whispered, a small smile in place. “I just might be in the market for a Gryffindor friend myself.”

Draco wasn’t sure if it was a smart decision. He knew he would get too many questions and it would even make it back to his father, but he wasn’t so sure he could walk a path alone. He wasn’t strong like Potter, nor did he have the support system as others. If Draco was destined to only have a handful of friends, then he wanted to make them count.

And Longbottom counted.

 

* * *

 

 Whispers of Black’s break-in were the only thing people gossiped about. But Draco wasn’t sure it was worth discussing. Sure, the safety of the students was important, but none of it made sense.

Why would Black enter the castle? Who would risk being caught?

Draco frowned as he looked up to where Severus sat at the High table. Severus had believed that Black wasn’t a murderer, that perhaps he was innocent—at least an implied innocence.

If Black was innocent, then entering Hogwarts was a death wish. Surely, he would realize that the Dementors were stationed and searching for him.

Unless that was the point. Did Black have nothing to risk?

Was it truly as the papers said? His father had once spoken of Black in amusement, and that alone had Draco suspicious. What was truly going on?

Draco left early, stomach not up for much.

As he entered the library, he caught sight of Potter poring over many different books. Draco bit his lip, unsure if his presence would be welcome.

“I won’t bite,” Potter Said, a smirk lifting at the corners.

Draco rolled his eyes before sitting across from Potter.

“Did you know that Black was given a sentence without a trial?” Potter asked, not looking up as he jumped right into a conversation.

Draco hummed curiously. “I know that kind of thing happened a lot right after the war. It’s illegal, though. A few inmates petitioned the court for a retrial, but usually it was the families pushing for it.”

Potter looked up, confused and lost. “I don’t know why I care. He was my godfather; did you know that?”

Draco shook his head, not entirely surprised that Severus hadn’t told him that.

“They say he’s the one who sold my parents to the Dark Lord.”

When Draco shook his head, brows merging and frown forming; Potter sat up straighter.

“Why do you look like that? You disagree?”

Draco bit his lip before he looked away. “I have reason to believe he was innocent.”

“Why?”

Potter’s tone was hard, but not unkind.

Draco shrugged, not ready to admit that the kind of person Regulus wrote about didn’t match up with the way Black was portrayed in the papers. Nor was he going to give up Severus as a source.

“It doesn’t fit who he once was.”

“How would you know who he was?”

Draco looked into Potter’s eyes, hating the way they were filled with distrust.

“I don’t know who he was, not really. I have a hunch, Potter, and I’m willing to bet on it.”

“And if the price is too high?”

“How about you let me worry about that?” Draco repeated Potter’s words back as they stared at each other, neither wanting to cave.

“I’m not telling you to not be suspicious,” Draco reassured. “I’m just telling you to keep an open mind. People might surprise you, that’s all.”

Potter didn’t appear appeased, nor did he seem to open to the idea, but he wasn’t arguing, and that was something.

“I thought I was supposed to be the bleeding heart?”

“Oh you are,” Draco contradicted with a smirk. “Don’t get that twisted.”

When Potter rolled his eyes, Draco stood up slowly.

“You like a mystery. Well, people are complex and as mysterious as they get. Figure out Black before you condemn him, that’s all I’m saying.”

Draco walked away, unsure if his belief in Black was solely because of Regulus’ love for his older brother. If Regulus was wrong about Black, then Draco wasn’t sure he could believe anything else in the letters.

Black needed to be innocent. He had to.

 

* * *

 

Draco angrily threw rocks into the great lake as the tension built the longer he thought of his father. Threatening Hagrid in court in the name of ‘caring’ about him was a farce, they both knew it. Interesting that his father could pretend to care in public but couldn’t do a damn thing in private.

Where was that love then? Where was the passion when there were no witnesses?

An angry noise left him as he threw another rock with far more strength than was required.

“Ah!” Draco side-stepped in time to avoid a rock being thrown at him from the Giant Squid.

“Sorry,” he called belatedly realizing he should have been more careful when flinging them.

Draco slumped on a stump as he covered his face in his hands. Without anything to relieve the stress, his focus was internal.

The root of the problem hadn’t been Hagrid’s overenthusiastic teaching, it hadn’t been his father’s warped sense of justice, nor was it the Hippogriff’s fault. The problem had been him. It was his own fault the Hippogriff attacked.

No one wanted to hear that though, no one wanted to listen. Ironic that ‘the children’ were used as an excuse, but no one really cared what the children think. His father had the Wizengamot and the Board of Governors in the palm of his hands, both believing that action needed to be taken so that the safety of others were maintained. But that wasn’t the problem—it never had been.

Why did it have to be something else? Why wasn’t the simplest answer the right one? Why couldn’t they all just see that it had been his own stupidity that was the issue?

Why get the public involved at all? Not every problem was social justice. Not every issue needed a spotlight.

“Most people skip rocks, not throw them.”

Potter’s voice wasn’t entirely welcome, but it was at least a distraction. Draco looked up to see Potter leaning against a nearby tree. If Potter had seen him throwing rocks, then that meant he had seen the squid throw one back. Lovely.

“I’m not most people.”

Potter’s eyes travelled over Draco’s face. “No, you aren’t.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to do with that. It didn’t sound like a compliment, but it wasn’t censure either.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked as he looked back towards the lake. “I already know it was my fault, alright? I don’t need you to tell me that.”

“It _was_ your fault.” The sound of movement could be heard, but Draco wasn’t going to turn around. “I was curious to see what you thought in light of the hearing.”

“I never asked for a bloody hearing!” Draco cried in frustration, kicking a rock into the lake. “The school notified my father against my wishes. The whole thing is stupid. I don’t understand why he cares. Why now of all times?”

“Your father?”

“It makes more sense to say nothing,” Draco continued, ignoring Potter’s question. “Cover it up and no one knows I was an idiot. But to seek justice for a farce? Draw attention to the cruel retribution? To harm those not responsible? What’s the point, Potter?”

“Saving face? Attention?” It was said as the sound of Potter’s voice drew near. “Sometimes, people like hurting others.”

Draco was reminded of Regulus’ letters and the lessons his cousin had learned.

“But why? Why does there have to be violence to know peace? Why can’t there be good in the world? Why do people like my father have to perpetuate their beliefs?”

Potter settled beside Draco on his knees as he began skipping rocks.

“I don’t know why evil has to exist,” Potter began with a whisper. “But I think it all stems from power. Because if your father had no power, but still held his beliefs, then he’s just a voice with no audience. He’s not a threat if there’s nothing to back it up with.”

Draco thought to his father’s reinstated position on the Board of Governors, thought to the good standing he held with the Minister, and even the social status that most regarded him with. Yeah, that was power alright. A lot of it.

“If your father wasn’t in the position that he is, he would be ignored, his thoughts wouldn’t be given a platform, and he wouldn’t be half as dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Draco questioned as he turned to look at Potter.

“Power in the hands of those who would use it on the innocent are dangerous. I’m not suggesting that Hagrid shouldn’t have used a tamer animal for third years, but that doesn’t mean his teaching should be called into question by the government. It’s a school matter, one that should be handled internally.”

“It was my fault,” Draco said quietly, eyes on the ground. “I was just talking to the Hippogriff, not really minding what I was saying, since I talk like that to everyone.”

When Draco glanced up, he caught a small shake of Potter’s head as he smiled.

“I didn’t expect it to get blown out of proportion. I didn’t expect for my father to act like he gives a damn.”

An uncomfortable silence fell around them, and Draco hated that he said that to begin with.

“Maybe he do—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Draco growled harsher than intended. “Don’t tell me that he cares. Don’t find a silver lining in this bullshit. Don’t preach about what you don’t know. Because he doesn’t care. He never has, and he never will.”

Draco stood up, hating that their understanding was crumbling, but he couldn’t bring himself to stay while his temper went unchecked.

“You were right. My father has power, craves it even, and you know what I can’t give him?” Draco asked, not giving Potter the chance to answer.

“Power. I can’t give him that, but he doesn’t know it yet. To him, I am impressionable and easily moulded. You think my use will matter when it’s gone? You think I’ll be anything but a casualty? I’m the next Hippogriff on trial.”

“You have use, we all do,” Potter said, hard tone causing Draco to still.

“ _You_ have use, Potter. You always have. You were no doubt destined to be who you are. I was supposed to be a mindless heir for a cruel man. And I couldn’t even do that without having a complex.”

“Good. Have a complex. Be someone else.”

Draco closed his eyes as he wished that Potter, Dobby, and even Regulus would cease the belief that he could be something other than what had been laid before him.

“What if who I am isn’t good enough? I’m not you, I don’t have a blinding morality propelling me forward. I’m someone who has no idea where to go or who to be. I’ve got a confused sense of duality and absolutely no power to do anything about it.”

A mess, that’s exactly what he wanted to voice, but couldn’t. Draco was a mess, and he wasn’t sure how to change that.

For once, Potter had nothing to say, and Draco couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed. Either way, he left the clearing in the same silence that he entered in with.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco knew he would pass his Defence Against the Dark Arts final, that wasn’t the issue—his ability to get past the boggart would be his own personal test.

The redcaps had been a breeze, the hinkypunks were nothing, the differences between an animagus and a werewolf were simple and beginning defencive spells were memorized; the only thing left to tackle was the Boggart.

The sounds of students further back had Draco nervous that they would enter the final area for testing soon, but Lupin had promised the Boggart would be away from prying eyes.

A quill lightly scratched against parchment, which let him know that Lupin was somewhere in the corner watching.

When Draco stepped closer, the wardrobe opened and instead of his father that stepped out, it was an older version of himself.

The spell to get rid of the Boggart died on his tongue when he caught sight of a familiar mark on the Boggart’s arm.

“No,” Draco whispered as his wand lowered.

When his Boggart self smirked cruelly, Draco understood why so many people disliked him.

“That’s right,” the Boggart mocked. “All your self-loathing, self-awareness and self-improvement did nothing. You still wound up a Death Eater.”

Draco took a step back as the urge to vomit overcame him.

“Such a shame too. Let down a lot of people, didn’t you?”

Draco whimpered when a man appeared next to his older self. The Boggart didn’t have the likeness quite right, but Draco knew it was supposed to be Regulus—or at least the version that was still on the tapestry.

“I believed in you, dear cousin, and you let me down.”

“Regulus,” Draco whispered, eyes closing. No. It was fake. He knew that, understood that he had to fight back, but it was hard.

“What a disappointment you are,” both Regulus and his older self said in unison.

“Not light enough for the opposition, but not dark enough to matter. You’ve become so weak, so pathetic, someone not worthy to be the next Malfoy heir.”

“No.” Draco shook his head rapidly as he repeated the word over and over. It couldn’t be right, he didn’t try so hard for it to all not mean anything. It was a lie, it had to be.

When a cold laugh reverberated around the room, Draco snapped his eyes up in horror to see his father approach. He couldn’t help the shiver that escaped as the Boggart version sneered.

“You are only my heir in blood, nothing more. I should’ve had a spare to replace the worthless heap that you are.”

Draco raised his wand, eyes stinging as he tried to find the courage to continue. There was a reason he had never been considered for Gryffindor.

“R-Riddikulus”

The Boggart wavered but didn’t disappear.

“Deep down, you know you can’t change,” his Boggart version said with malicious glee. “You had to have known you would be nothing but this.” A hand gestured up and down before resting on the dark mark.

“You can’t change the evil already inside of you.”

Draco clenched his fists as he stood up straighter.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t have to be you. I can be someone else.”

The three began to laugh as Draco tried again.

“Riddikulus.”

A crack could be heard as they disappeared into a burst of glitter.

Draco couldn’t look towards where Lupin was, didn’t want to see his expression. He rushed out of the area as his body shook.

Most of the students were already done, but Draco tried to ignore their stares as he searched the room for Longbottom.

When Draco walked forward, he could see that Longbottom was watching him, but not with pity—only concern.

“Can I have those benefits you were talking about, Neville?” Draco asked as he blinked rapidly.

Neville pulled Draco into a hug and he couldn’t stop his shoulders shaking from the comfort.

“I get it.”

Draco shook his head and burrowed closer when strong arms tightened.

“It was worse than I thought it would be. I could have taken him, you know? But I was there too. A version I don’t want to be.”

“You admitting that it’s someone you don’t want to be is the answer. Your fears don’t have to become you, Draco. Fears are irrational and relying on them to give you an insight will only lead to those fears winning.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“A few minutes ago.”

Draco laughed as he wiped his eyes discreetly on Neville’s robes before stepping back.

“Thank you.”

“For?” Neville teased as they walked towards a corner of the room that was unoccupied.

“Being you, I guess.”

Neville smiled softly. “In that case, you are welcome.”

They stood in a comfortable silence as the last few students finished their tests. When Lupin dismissed them and locked eyes with Draco, he quickly left before any questions could be asked. Draco wasn’t sure if Lupin knew Regulus, but he sure didn’t feel like explaining anything.

Were the chances of Lupin knowing Regulus Black high? Draco wasn’t sure, but he was hoping against it.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco made his way towards Hagrid's cabin. Normally, he would have taken the foresight to avoid arriving when Hagrid tended to be around, but he was limited on time and settled for when Hagrid was occupied with guests.

The Hippogriff was tethered out front of Hagrid’s cottage.

Draco bowed, silently praying he wasn’t about to be attacked with the back of his neck open for the taking.

When Draco peered up, legs locked in the uncomfortable position, it took several minutes for the bow to be returned. If he didn’t know any better, he would think the Hippogriff was reluctant.

“I’m sorry,” whispered Draco. He held up a tentative hand and waited for it to be nudged before he began to pet the animal.

“I always knew my mouth would get me in trouble one day. I really did. But that was always a consequence for me, not for other people. My actions will lead to your death, and I’m sorry.”

A small noise left the Hippogriff’s mouth, but Draco wasn’t sure what it was meant to signify. He stupidly hoped it was a noise of understanding, but it was most likely a desire for him to keep petting the animal.

“I should have watched what I was saying. It’s not like I didn’t know what Hippogriffs are like. I knew you wouldn’t take well to my words, but I just—I was wrong. No excuses can make up for it. Nothing I tell you will make it better. I just wish you weren’t being punished for my stupidity.”

Draco leaned forward as he rested his head against the Hippogriff’s.

“It’s not fair. You shouldn’t have to die.”

Draco took a step back before he got emotional in Hagrid’s pumpkin patch. That would be unforgivable.

Noise drew his attention towards the walkway he’d come down. The sight of Dumbledore with the Minister had him wincing before he chose to enter the surrounding forest instead.

As soon as Draco hid behind a tree, he realized that it was already occupied.

“Well this is awkward,” Draco whispered as he stared at Granger and Potter.

They stared at him for a moment, each glancing back towards the Hippogriff—most likely they had heard some of his conversation.

“Right. I’m going to pretend I was never here. You are going to pretend I was never here, and we’ll all just move on.”

Draco slowly backed away further into the forest.

“Malfoy!” Potter whisper-yelled.

“Nope,” Draco interrupted, hands raised despite them not being able to see them. “You saw nothing.”

Absolutely nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco made sure to throw rocks in the shallow end of the lake where he knew the Giant Squid didn’t sleep.

He wasn’t sure if it was cathartic or if he was just angry at the world. Draco had always known that Severus could be cruel—but he didn’t have to try so hard to get Lupin fired.

Werewolf.

It wasn’t hard to believe, not with the clues laid out, but why did his status as a werewolf matter? It was bigotry all over again, only it wasn’t geared at Muggles or Muggleborns.

The stigma against magical creatures was just as bad, and Draco wasn’t sure how to stop it all. Each time he turned around, there was someone else on the stake.

Only this time it wasn’t just Purebloods being the oppressors. Some Half-Bloods _and_ Muggleborns helped in the Ministry to run laws and decrees that ensured that magical creatures stay the minority.

Why would those who face oppression harm those who know the same cruelty? Was it a part of society that Draco didn’t understand, or was it a part of a bigger issue that all stemmed back to the original oppressors?

Was Severus as prejudiced as his father? Or was it something else? It had been clear to many people that his godfather hadn’t been fond of Lupin, but what could Lupin have possibly done to Severus to warrant a loss of a job?

Draco wasn’t sure who to look up to, who to go to, or who his role models were supposed to be. For a while that had been Severus, but was that a mistake? Should he have no guide and just learn from Regulus?

But that was just as scary. Draco wasn’t sure what happened to Regulus, and the letters weren’t an absolute truth, there could be problems in them—and it wasn’t as if Draco could fact check any of it. It was either trust Regulus’ words, or discount them completely.

Why did everything have to be so complicated?

“I’m going to have to teach you how to skip rocks.”

Draco startled at Potter’s voice before he turned around and glared at the amused expression on his face.

“I know how to skip rocks.”

Arched brows disagreed with Draco’s statement, but he didn’t care.

“I wanted to thank you,” Potter said, not coming any closer.

“Thank me?” Draco tilted his head, unsure what Potter was talking about.

“You were right. People do surprise you.”

Draco blinked rapidly as his mouth parted. “So Black really is innocent?”

A smile stretched when Potter said nothing to dispute the belief.

When Draco looked back at Potter and noticed he was gone, he allowed his smile to grow.

If Regulus had been right about Sirius, then what else had he been right about?


	5. Draco Malfoy and the Path of Introspection (Year Four)

“What is this nonsense about Longbottom being your friend?”

Draco was already standing upright, but he tried to hold himself straighter as his father narrowed his eyes. He could see his mother out of the corner of his eye, she was quiet, and her eyes were down—typical.

“Longbottom is a Pureblood, and one that is in a prime position for information.” Draco hated that such a lie was believable. Neville wasn’t someone to be used.

When his father continued to stare, Draco tried not to fidget—such an action would only prove it was all a farce.

“What information do you hope to seek?”

Draco shrugged once before explaining. “Any information could be of use later down the line.”

It was hard to guess his father’s mood, not much escaped his cold demeanour.

“Alright.” It was voiced several minutes later. “You will pry for any information that can be used against Longbottom, or any upcoming movements.”

Draco would do no such thing, but his father didn’t have to know that—at least not yet.

“Now, I want to talk about your grades.”

That caused Draco’s eyes to widen. “My grades have improved since last year.”

When his father sneered, he had to hide his shaking hands inside his robes.

“Speak when you are directed to, and only then.”

Draco nodded his head as his lips thinned and the urge to flee mounted.

“While they may have improved in certain areas, they are still not as high as they should be.”

Draco closed his eyes. What did his father want from him? Perfect scores? He tried, relentlessly. Why couldn’t that be enough?

Why couldn’t he be _enough_?

“The mudblood managed to excel in a third more exams than you.”

“She also took a third more classes than me,” Draco ground out, hating that his father couldn’t see the positive things he had accomplished.

When his father stood up, Draco had to look away, already knowing what was to come.

It wasn’t fair. How could his father blame him for not doing more, when the opportunity hadn’t presented itself? Granger had McGonagall backing her, he didn’t have that.

“Why is it impossible for you to understand the simple concept of respect?”

_Respect._ If Draco was into masochism, he would’ve pointed out that his father knew _nothing_ about respect, but he wasn’t feeling the inclination for pain.

“You disappoint me, Draco.”

That wasn’t news. As Draco stared at his father, he wondered if there would ever be a day when he wanted his approval.

“If you can’t understand manners, then I will teach them to you.”

Draco looked out the window as the sound of a wand leaving its sheath could be heard. The silence of the room was just as silent as his mother and he wondered if that meant something.

Was it wrong that he was proud of being his father’s disappointment? The alternative meant a horror that Draco wasn’t sure he would be able to see in the mirror every day. Disappointment. He could handle that. He welcomed the title.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco looked around at all the different tents and smiled. His father may have had an ostentatious tent that cost more than most actual homes, but the ones everyone else had were better; they had character and felt homely.

“Look,” Draco whispered as he pointed towards a new row of tents. “Those ones are red.”

Neville laughed as he gestured to where one of the tents had miniature flying quidditch players from the Bulgarian team whizzing around.

“It’s all so chaotic,” said Draco as he turned his head in different directions finding more sights that he loved. “I like it.”

“It’s not like home,” Neville remarked, gesturing towards their own bleak tent where Draco’s father had peacocks tied out front. _Peacocks_.

“Is Longbottom Manor any different?”

Neville snorted derisively. “My gran doesn’t know how to be anything but a proper Pureblood of her heritage.”

“At least she knew the right side to be on.”

“No,” Neville disagreed before waving to a few Gryffindor classmates. “My parents picked a side. My gran didn’t want them to pick at all. She would rather be in the sidelines judging everyone.”

There was an appeal there. Draco was good at judging people, but he also liked the idea of not picking anything.

“And you?”

Neville paused to smile sadly. “I just want to make my parents proud.”

That had Draco glaring at the dirt. Perhaps as a child he had had the same notion—he would have done anything to have his father be proud.

“If my father is proud of me, then that means I’ve become someone else, someone I won’t be able to recognize in the mirror.”

“That isn’t pride,” Neville said quietly as they paused. “If you have to betray your own beliefs to meet someone else’s standards, then that’s not pride. You shouldn’t have to be someone else to please him.”

Draco looked away, noticing that a few people were wearing odd muggle clothes, ones that clashed and hurt his eyes to look at.

“I changed already, Neville. I used to believe in his words, used to want nothing more than his plan for me. I used to want that pride. What does that say about me?”

Neville smiled softly as he threw an arm around Draco’s shoulder.

“That just means you are human.”

“Well, I don’t like it. I don’t want to be human.”

The sound of Neville’s laughter had Draco smiling slightly. Maybe Neville was right. Making mistakes was a human thing to do. Maybe changing who he once was made him human.

 

* * *

 

 

“Go!” Draco cried, pushing Neville out of the tent as he held out the emergency portkey.

“Come with me,” Neville begged as he eyed the portkey warily.

The screams of people nearby had Draco’s heart clenching. “I can’t. He’ll expect me to be here.”

“Fuck his expectations,” Neville growled, eyes hardening. “You aren’t safe here.”

“I’ll be alright.” Draco hoped that was true. He wasn’t sure what his father was doing, but the horrified yells were enough to give him a clue.

“Draco—”

Draco shook his head, not wanting to fight with Neville.

“Please go. I need you to be safe, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

The hard edge to Neville’s tone let Draco know it was probably a stupid Gryffindor stubbornness that was taking over.

Draco reached up to jab to the portkey once.

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered as he took a step back in time for the portkey to activate.

“No!”

Neville’s yell was the last thing Draco heard before he straightened up and left the tent.

 

* * *

 

 

The sound of bickering distracted Draco from the urge to vomit. He tore his eyes away from where the group of Death Eaters were levitating a muggle family.

“This is stupid,” the sound of Granger’s voice had Draco shaking his head. With his luck, it wasn’t surprising that the moronic trio had found him. _“Lumos!”_

“I tripped over a tree root,” came Weasley’s angry reply.

“Not hard to do considering your large feet,” Draco drawled as he watched them spin to him in surprise.

“Piss off,” Weasley said as he brushed the dirt off his robes.

“Language, Weasley,” Draco reprimanded distractedly as he looked back towards the campsite. “Best get out of here, you wouldn’t want Granger spotted, would you?”

Green light exploded outward as it lit up the clearing briefly. The colour had Draco nervous and he hoped his father wouldn’t kill the Muggles.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Granger asked in an offended tone.

“They’re after Muggles,” Draco explained unnecessarily as he gestured to the scene past the trees. “Believe me, they aren’t going to care that you are a Witch.”

Granger looked down to her wand doubtfully, as if that alone would save her from being discovered.

“If you think they can’t spot a muggleborn, then you aren’t as smart as I thought.”

Weasley held onto Granger’s arm as he tried to pull her away.

“I expect your father told you to hide,” Draco continued, pretending it was just a normal conversation and nothing was amiss.

“And your father?” Potter asked, eyes narrowed. “Where’s he?”

Draco looked back through the gap in the trees.

“Doing what he’s always done.”

When Draco looked back at them, he clenched his fists at their expressions.

“You don’t get to judge me for his actions. And you certainly don’t get to act as if I have done his crimes.”

Potter’s eyes softened, but Draco didn’t care.

“Fuck off.”

He pushed past them as he headed away from the forest and the campsite.

“Hey!” Potter yelled behind him. “It’s dangerous out there.”

“Better in danger than with you lot. At least if I’m harmed out here it’s my own actions responsible and not repayment for my father’s sins.”

“Malfoy I’m—”

Draco didn’t stick around to hear the end of what Potter said. He was too angry. Angry with his father, angry at the world, angry at society, and angry at himself for caring what others thought.

 

* * *

 

 

**_He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s Mark  
            **_And What it Means for You_**_ **

 

Draco glared at the title of the Prophet before chucking it out the train window, satisfied with the way it flew past.

“I’m still mad at you, you know,” Neville sniffed as he tended to a small plant.

Draco rolled his eyes, wondering how he was always labelled the dramatic one when Neville clearly deserved the title.

“I’m _so_ sorry I was a decent friend and made sure you were safe.”

Neville chucked a clump of dirt at Draco as he tried not to laugh.

“Arse. That’s not a proper apology, and you know it. I was worried about you.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile.

“I know, and I know that I could have handled it differently. But at the time, I just wanted to do _something_ —something right, for once. I couldn’t save the Muggles, I couldn’t save anyone who got in their way. But you? I could save you.”

As Neville set the plant down—which suspiciously looked like a bulb of a Venomous Tentacula—Draco braced himself for impact.

Neville pulled Draco in for a hug and he held on firmly.

“You were wrong,” Neville whispered. “You make a great friend.”

Draco closed his eyes tightly, ever thankful he took a chance and put himself out there. Neville may be a brash Gryffindor, and an idiot sometimes, but he truly was a great friend.

The sound of their compartment door sliding open had Draco peering up into amused green eyes.

“Why are you two always hugging?”

“Jealous, Potter?” Draco smirked as Neville pulled away to sit down.

“Absolutely,” Potter agreed easily. “Neville gives the best hugs.” It was accompanied with a wink and it had Draco rolling his eyes.

“Wotcher, Harry,” Neville waved once before tending to his plant again. “Have you come to talk about the tournament?”

Potter’s brows furrowed before shaking his head. “No, I came to apologize to Malfoy. But—what tournament?”

Neville sent Draco a sharp look, and Draco studiously looked away as he pretended not to notice.

“You don’t know?” Draco questioned. “I assumed Weasley would have told you—considering his father works for the Ministry.”

“What apology?” Neville spoke up.

“I reckon you’ll want to enter,” Draco mused, aware of Neville’s growing frustration. “Perhaps not, death isn’t your forte—just the side effect of being who you are.”

“What?” Potter appeared concerned, and that was just a step away from the horror Draco wanted him to feel. It was rather fun baiting him.

“ _What apology?”_ Neville asked louder.

Potter rubbed the back of his neck before looking at Draco a little sheepishly.

“I tried to apologize then, but you walked away.” Potter paused as he looked uncomfortable.

Draco arched a brow, not in the mood to make it easier on him.

“I wasn’t trying to be rude. I just—it was hectic and nerve-wracking.”

“Yes, well, Death Eaters will do that for you,” Draco drawled as he looked past Neville to the wall.

When Neville narrowed his eyes, it amused Draco to note that it spurred Potter on.

“It was obvious that your father was one of them, or at least to me, and—”

“What does that have to do with Draco?” Neville asked sharply, arms folded across his chest. “What his father does isn’t there for you to make connections with Draco’s thoughts or stance.”

Potter nodded once. “I know, and that’s what I’m apologizing for.”

Draco shrugged. “It’s fine. It’s not as if this is new to me. You aren’t the first, and you certainly won’t be the last.”

When Potter’s face crumpled Draco tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, but it did.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy. You don’t deserve that.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Neville agreed, eyes hard.

Draco’s lips twitched. It was unusual to have a protector.

“It’s fine,” Draco said more to Neville than Potter. “I accept your apology. Just… don’t assume things, alright?”

A look of relief filtered across Potter’s face as the tension left his shoulders.

“I won’t.”

There was a beat of silence before Potter spoke again.

“So, what tournament?”

“Goodbye Harry,” Neville said, shooing Potter out of the compartment and locking the door.

“Well done, Neville,” Draco congratulated as he stretched out over the bench.

Before Neville could appear too smug, Draco pointed towards the plant.

“Isn’t that against school rules?” Venomous Tentacula were dangerous, partly why they had supervised contact with the plant in the greenhouses.

“You going to turn me in?” Neville smiled innocently, something Draco would _never_ associate with him again.

“No, I’m going to tell you that you are stupid, though.”

Neville’s offended gasp had Draco’s shoulders shaking as he tried not to laugh.

“There’s no protection charms,” Draco ticked off one finger. “You don’t have any vanishing spells guarding the base, where it’s the most noticeable tell of a Venomous Tentacula.” Another finger.

“ _And_ , you don’t even have any glamours up!” Draco shook his head in disappointment. “I’m all for breaking the rules, but not if you’re going to get _caught_. That’s just—that’s Gryffindor—that’s what that is.”

When Neville laughed instead of getting offended, Draco knew they would remain friends for a _long_ time.

“Help me, then,” Neville ordered as he pulled out his wand. “I reckon it’s the job of a Slytherin to not only be the brains of the operation, but also an accomplice.”

Yeah, they would remain friends alright.

 

* * *

 

Draco frowned as he fully woke up. He wasn’t sure why he was awake—it had taken ages for the rest of the dorm to stop gossiping about the Triwizard Tournament and actually go to bed.

When he sat up and made contact with another face, Draco let out a startled scream.

Large eyes widened before a snap of fingers had his bedside curtains closing.

“Dobby—” Draco whispered, half of the belief that he was seeing things, but the other half excited to see his friend again.

“What’s going on?” Grumbled Blaise.

Draco placed his palm on Dobby’s mouth when Dobby opened it as if to reply.

“Nothing. Had a dream that’s all.”

Someone snorted, but Draco didn’t want to pull back the curtains to look.

“Probably had a nightmare about shagging Potter,” came Theo’s amused retort.

“Oi!” Draco called as the rest of the dorm snickered.

“That’s not a nightmare,” Blaise argued, ignoring Draco completely. “Potter could probably be pretty fit in a few years.”

“Maybe.” Theo didn’t seem too thrilled with the idea. “If I’m going to have dreams about shagging someone, I’d want it to be Parkinson at least. Have you seen her—”

“How about you all shut up,” Draco demanded.

“Besides,” Theo continued, and Draco let out a frustrated growl at being ignored. “We all know Draco has a thing for Potter.”

Dobby’s eyes blinked rapidly as he tilted his head. Draco shook his head, trying to deny the statement without voicing anything to the rest of them.

“I require evidence,” Draco said indignantly.

“ _Oh boy_ ,” Blaise said in a laugh that was full of disbelief. “I’d be awake all night if we were to really go there.”

“Who’s got the time?” Theo added.

“Who cares at all?” Vincent spoke up for the first time as Gregory grunted in agreement.

“I hate all of you,” Draco said, disdain clearly heard. “See if I’m nice to you ever again.”

Several guffaws had Draco sighing.

“Remind me when you were nice?” Blaise asked in an annoyingly amused tone. “I must have been absent.”

“He’s nice to Potter,” Greg supplied in what Draco assumed was meant to be helpful.

“Greg, that was best left unsaid,” Draco said as the rest of the dorm laughed openly.

“And I am _not_ nice to Potter.”

“Right,” Theo began, and Draco could hear the smile in his voice. “And I’m a muggleborn.”

Draco debated about whether to let it go, or to say something. When he could feel Dobby’s frown against his palm, he knew his answer.

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing if you were, you know.”

The silence that followed wasn’t good. Draco knew that every word spoken could be a dagger to the back in a heartbeat. Four children of Death Eaters and one that was a dark supporter all rooming together meant that secrets were treasured, and beliefs weren’t mentioned—for even a whiff of _anything_ could make it back to their parents.

“ _That_ was best unsaid, Malfoy,” Theo warned, tone nearly regretful. But the line had been drawn, and Draco knew that he wasn’t on the same side.

When he could hear shuffling, Draco knew everyone was getting ready to fall back asleep.

Dobby snapped his fingers, and Draco understood that a silencing charm was put up.

“What are you doing here, Dobby?”

Draco looked up and down Dobby, glad to see that his sack had been upgraded to something that was at least clean.

“Is that the Hogwarts crest?” Draco pointed towards the emblem near the right shoulder.

Dobby grinned widely with a happiness Draco hadn’t ever seen before.

“Dobby works for Dumbledore! It’s close to Master Draco and Harry Potter.”

Draco winced as he picked at the duvet. “You can just call me Draco. I’m not your Master, and I never should have been in the first place.”

When Draco peered up, Dobby was smiling warmly at him, and it had the tension evaporating.

“Dobby missed Draco.”

Draco pulled Dobby into a hug, amused by the surprised squeak that was released. “I missed you too.”

“Was I at least the deciding factor before Potter in whether or not you came here?”

Dobby rolled his eyes before nodding. “Draco comes first, always.”

It shouldn’t have mattered what order it was, but Draco was relieved. He didn’t want to share Dobby but knew that it wasn’t up to him to dictate anything. It was juvenile to harp on the belief that he was more important to Dobby than Potter, but he couldn’t help but revel in it.

“Has Draco been well?”

Observant eyes moved over Draco’s face before narrowing suspiciously.

“I’ve been as well as I can be,” Draco answered honestly, not wanting to hide anything. “Still unsure of the world, but I’m trying.”

“That’s all Draco can do.” Dobby’s earnest answer had Draco smiling softly.

Draco laid back before patting the side of the bed. “Tell me about your work. Any gossip with the other house elves?”

Dobby laid on a spare pillow and turned his head to smile at Draco.

“Oh!” Dobby clapped his hands excitedly. “ _So_ much gossip. Fidor is lead house elf in the kitchens, but he’s mean to Winky, so Dobby isn’t liking him.”

“Winky?” Draco asked half yawning as he closed his eyes. “Is this a new friend?”

“Yes, Dobby is Winky’s friend.”

Draco closed his eyes as he tried not to fall asleep listening to Dobby regale him in tales of adventures that had been had while alone searching for work.

“Dobby swears the bird pecked him, does Draco want to see the scar?”

“Maybe another time,” Draco whispered as he pulled his duvet up higher. “When I can remember to tease you for it.”

“Dobby takes it back; Harry Potter is being Dobby’s favourite.”

Draco snorted as another yawn took over.

“Liar.” It was mumbled, but his awareness began to slip as sleep took over, and Draco wasn’t sure what Dobby said in return, but he felt a warmth on his forehead briefly before there was nothing.

Draco was just happy to have Dobby back.

 

* * *

 

 

Moody was strange; always watching, lurking and genuinely creepy. Draco had hoped that the professor would at least be competent in lessons, but the hope wasn’t particularly high when one thought of their previous teachers—only Lupin had been decent.

It could be paranoia, but Draco was positive that Moody watched him with his magical eye. He felt the presence of being watched whenever near Moody, and it was unnerving.

As Draco sat next to Neville in their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson of the year, his hope of Moody being sane went out the window.

“Do any of you know which curses are punished heavily by Wizarding law?”

Several hands shot up, but Draco was content observing.

When both of Moody’s eyes settled on Draco, he sighed internally.

“Malfoy?”

Draco looked away—not wanting to play into any of it. “The Imperius curse.”

“You _would_ know about that one.”

Draco clenched his fingers tightly as he fought the urge to snap. It wouldn’t do well to have detention already. Severus would kill him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Draco said innocently, eyes wide as he adopted a look that had stopped working on Dobby when he had been three. “Sir.” The last bit was added with a tiny smirk that he just couldn’t hide.

Moody narrowed his good eye but didn’t push the issue—Draco chalked it up as a win.

When a demonstration of the curse was added to a spider, Draco felt his stomach knot. That wasn’t right. Theory of spells could be practical—there was no need for it to be _shown_ in such a manner.

“Anyone else?”

Neville raised his hand, and Draco wished that he wouldn’t. Not with this lesson.

“The Cruciatus curse.”

The tremor to Neville’s voice had Draco’s eyes closing tightly as hatred for his aunt flared strongly. He knew that it had happened when he had been just a baby, but that didn’t change the empathy that welled up.

Moody’s eyes—both of them—looked to Neville, almost curiously as he asked, “Name’s Longbottom, is it?”

Neville nodded once, eyes downcast and lip trembling.

When Moody reached into the jar and pulled out the second spider, Neville whimpered lowly. Draco glared at Moody, unsure _why_ he was showing a demonstration in the first place.

_“Crucio!”_

The spider’s legs curled up—in the same stance one might think it died—before it began twitching violently, little body jerking the longer the curse remained active.

No sound came from the spider, but the pain was undeniable, and it had Draco nauseous. He looked to Neville and felt his heart breaking.

“Stop it!” Draco cried out at the same time Granger did.

Moody cleared his throat before placing the spider back inside the glass, eyes wide but not remorseful. Draco hated him—hated everything about the lesson.

“You don’t need weapons to inflict pain, not when the Cruciatus curse is around.”

It took all of Draco’s patience not to snap when Moody waved away any concern and continued with the lesson.

“And the last one?”

“Granger?”

Draco didn’t look as she answered, he knew Potter would pull his attention—it always would.

“Killing curse.”

Neville made a disgusted noise as Moody pulled out the final spider—a sentiment Draco could relate to.

“The last and worst of them all,” Moody nodded approvingly at her. The lopsided twist of his lips had Draco’s fists clenching tightly.

Draco closed his eyes when Moody raised his wand. Perhaps it was cowardice, but he couldn’t do it—couldn’t watch the life leave the spider.

The sounds of several shocked cries had Draco sending a brief apology to the spider who died to satisfy a madman’s cruel intentions.

“It’s not nice,” Moody began easily—as if he hadn’t just used the Killing curse in front of twenty fourth-years. “There’s no countercurse and certainly no blocking it. Only one survivor of the curse, and he’s sitting among you.”

The sound of people swivelling in their seats to stare at Potter had Draco opening his eyes.

Potter’s face was red, but unseeing as he stared at the front of the room past Moody, hands clenched on the desk.

Draco had never known hatred quite so volatile before. The mentality of it was simple—but to fully hate someone required them to matter and that hadn’t happened before. But as he listened to the thin excuses as to why Moody chose to show the spells, he knew hatred strongly.

“The use of any one of those spells will earn a life sentence in Azkaban. You all could be up against them at one point in your life. I’ve been tasked with teaching you how to fight, and you need to prepare. You need constant vigilance.”

“Theory of the spell would have sufficed,” Draco mumbled, unable to restrain himself.

He could feel Moody’s stare, but he wasn’t going to look up and indulge it, not unless it was on his terms.

“Have something to say, Mister Malfoy?” The tone itself was a warning, that much was clear, but Draco couldn’t stop himself.

Draco huffed. “The use of those spells are _illegal_. The Ministry can’t sanction Hogwarts itself, but the teachers can be held liable. You didn’t offer any one of us an out, that’s not allowed. I _know_ my father didn’t give permission for this.”

“Your father,” Moody chuckled darkly. “I could tell you a lot about your father.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Nothing I don’t already know, believe me.”

“Dumbledore approved of this lesson, regardless of whatever you feel. This lesson is needed for your survival.”

“The Sensitivity Act of 1982 opposes any approval on the subject matter. We have the right to say no to any topic matter that might be harmful.” He was paraphrasing, but the act was true, something that Moody and Dumbledore had conveniently overlooked.

“There are survivors of these curses, and families that were torn apart by them in this classroom, and you forced them to _watch_. That is a violation of that act. Theory would have sufficed. This was unnecessary and cruel.”

Moody’s mouth twisted into either a smile or a grimace, it was hard to tell with the scars.

“Theory will never prepare you as thoroughly as a spell.”

“Risking someone’s mental health for your own agenda.” Draco stood up, shaking his head slowly. “That’s what you are doing.”

“Malfoy—”

“Tell me about it in detention, I’m sure that’s what you were going to say.”

“I’ll be talking to your head of house!” Moody yelled as Draco opened the door, not bothering to turn around.

“See that you do.”

The sound of the door closing cut off anything Moody would have said and it was exactly what Draco wanted. Part of him wondered if he would regret his outburst, but the sounds of the other students and the look on Neville’s face hardened his resolve. No—he wouldn’t regret any of it.

Except for leaving Neville alone.

Draco waited out in the corridor for the lesson to end. If he used his time wisely he could have explained it to Severus before Moody would get the opportunity, but Neville was more important—and Draco needed to be there for his friend.

The moment Neville walked out of the classroom, Draco pulled him into a hug.

“I’m alright,” Neville whispered, fingers digging into Draco’s back.

“Don’t lie to me,” begged Draco. “It’s hypocritical of me, and I know I’ve said I’m fine when clearly I wasn’t—but Neville, I know that was hard for you. It would have been hard for anyone.”

“You know.” Neville tried to pull away, but Draco held on tighter as he ignored the curious looks from their classmates.

“How could I not? She was my aunt. My father is proud of her crimes.”

“Your father is fucked up.”

Draco laughed a little wetly. “I agree with you there.”

“It’s just…” Neville trailed off before righting himself as they began walking again. “I’ve always known what happened to them. Understood the symptoms of their condition, knew the damage the spell had done, but now I’ve got an image. An image of what could’ve happened.”

Neville’s eyes filled with tears and Draco was tempted to hug him again, but Neville had curled inward as they stopped near an alcove.

“I can’t help but wonder if they looked like the spider. So defenceless and vulnerable. Despite having a wand, they ended up just like the spider, with nothing stopping them. No one was there for them. They’re not sane, Draco. They don’t even know who I am. And I just—I hate it. I hate what happened, and I hate the casters—but I hate the spell just as much.”

Draco blinked rapidly as he tried not to get too emotional. He wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure his input would be welcome considering who his aunt was.

“Unforgivable is a joke. It’s more than that. And to have it in a classroom?” Neville shook his head angrily as face hardened.

“I have to face the truth of what happened every single day. I should be allowed to have a peace of mind while here. Why is he allowed to dredge it all up and show such spells? I could have handled learning about them, could have handled the essays and the homework. But this? This was cruel.”

Draco nodded as he placed an arm around Neville’s shoulder and pulled him forward.

“He’s using his own experiences to try and validate beliefs that aren’t our own narrative,” Draco tried to rationalize. “I get the meaning behind it. We should be aware of things like that, definitely need a more honest approach when it comes to defence—but this wasn’t it.”

Neville sighed and Draco knew he would be alright. That didn’t change Draco’s anger with Moody, nor did it make him willing to let any of it go.

“I can send an owl to my father. He’ll fight it.”

Neville grimaced before shaking his head. “Can we find someone else? Someone a little more… trustworthy?”

“Snape?” Draco offered just to see Neville glare at him.

When Neville pinched his arm, Draco wondered why he bothered being nice at all.

“Only as a last resort,” Neville conceded, frown in place. Draco knew Severus wasn’t someone Neville wanted to talk to, let alone seek help from.

“Alright,” Draco agreed. Before they turned the corner, he looked back at the sensation of eyes on him and wasn’t surprised to see Moody in the corridor near his classroom.

It would be immature to flip him off, but Draco had never been concerned about his maturity levels.

Detention sure would be an experience.

 

* * *

 

Draco knocked on Severus’ office door aware of exactly what he would be facing once inside.

“Enter.”

As he walked in and took the offered seat, Draco tried to appear as innocent as possible.

“That’s not going to work,” Severus admonished, hands already folded across his chest. “On anyone.”

“Had to try.” Draco shrugged with a small smirk.

“I realize that I probably have a week’s detention or more, but I’m not going to apologize to him. He’s reckless, and a giant wanker who shouldn’t be teaching children.”

Severus’ lips quirked.

“He deserves your respect regardless of how ill fit he is to be a teacher.”

Draco rolled his eyes but said nothing. His silence could be an agreement if interpreted correctly.

“Your outburst brought several other students forward, all willing to talk to their parents.”

Draco sighed, relief causing the tension to leave. It would have been difficult if he had been the only one who was willing to fight it.

“Any further lessons of the same nature will allow the students an alternative option available. The Ministry has been notified, but I doubt they will do anything to him.”

It was more than Draco had expected, no complaints would be coming from him.

“You still have detention.”

“Figures,” Draco mumbled darkly as he glared at the desk.

“Strange, but it’s only one night.”

Draco’s brows furrowed. “Moody’s only giving me one detention? Just one?”

Severus nodded, and Draco got the impression he was just as suspicious.

“Either he’s being generous, or he knows exactly what he’s doing,” Severus continued, tone making it clear which one he thought it was.

“Did he talk to you?”

“Yes,” Severus nodded once. “He was under the assumption I would care.”

A surprised laugh escaped Draco as he leaned back in the chair. “I’m surprised you don’t.”

Severus looked away, the action let Draco know that something wasn’t quite right.

“Moody was the one who caught me right at the end of the war, did you know that?”

Draco blinked rapidly, unsure if it was an instance where Severus actually wanted a reply or if he was just seeking someone to listen to him.

“He doesn’t trust easily, and that I can at least understand. But he’s rigid in the all or nothing belief, he doesn’t see shades of character or extenuating circumstances, and he certainly is blind to the notion of redemption.”

“A lot of people are,” Draco whispered, mind going to Regulus’ letters as he once again wondered if his cousin had ever found a personal redemption.

When Severus arched a brow, Draco flushed.

“Do you think that people can change internally but not on the outside?”

Severus let out a noise of some kind, but Draco couldn’t place it.

“I think that sometimes it doesn’t matter how deep the redemption _looks_. Everyone has things they regret doing, and sometimes those things aren’t forgivable by those who felt the consequences. And that’s alright. They have the right to not forgive.”

Draco could tell that Severus was speaking from personal experience and it had his back straightening. His godfather wasn’t one to open up, and it was enough for Draco to _really_ listen.

“If someone was to change—truly change—then it wouldn’t matter if other people saw the redemption. If it’s done on the basis of the public opinion, then it’s done poorly. Redemption isn’t a glamour to put on, it’s not something to parade and show to those who are distrusting.”

Draco thought to Regulus’ words and couldn’t help but feel bitter that no one knew of Regulus’ inner thoughts.

“Is it wrong to want that validation? Wrong to want the attention? To be noticed for the change?”

Severus’ lip turned downward.

“Wrong? No. I think it’s human to want recognition, but it’s not always needed.”

Draco tried to let that sink in, tried to let his own opinions in on the subject matter. But he couldn’t help but wish that Regulus hadn’t died without a single soul realizing his true intentions.

“Did—did you find redemption?” He knew it was personal, but Draco wanted to know—needed to hear it from someone who was similar to Regulus in means of mistakes.

Severus laughed hollowly and somewhat bitterly.

“I don’t know.” Severus looked down at the desk, eyes hard. “I would like to think so. I’ll never receive redemption to the public eye. I know this, and I won’t ever bother trying for them. But for me? I try. Even if I die without a normalized version of redemption—I did what I could in the end, and that’s all I can do.”

To try. That’s what the crux of it was. Draco wasn’t sure how his own path would go, but he would try—because that’s all he could do.

He just hoped it was worth it.

 

* * *

 

 

As far as detentions went, Moody’s was tame. It was no walk in the Forbidden Forest, so there was that.

Lines. Simple and confusing. Someone who could callously perform Unforgivables but only make students do lines for detention? What an odd dichotomy. Even Filch was far more creative than that—perhaps not the best example.

_Constant Vigilance is required for safety._

Over and over Draco wrote the bloody sentence, hoping that he could one day use ‘constant vigilance’ as an excuse to hex Moody in the balls.

“Do you really know what your father is capable of?”

Draco clenched his jaw as he tried to ignore Moody.

“Answer me or your detention will go past the hour.”

“I know what he is capable of more so than you.”

A harsh barking laughter reverberated around the room, and it almost had Draco snapping his quill in response.

“I highly doubt that.”

The amusement in Moody’s tone was what broke Draco’s resolve.

“Do you?” The triumph in Moody’s eyes let Draco know that he had been baited.

“Do you really think that my father is a different person to me than he is to anyone else?”

When Moody’s eye widened, Draco almost wanted to stop talking, but now that it had begun, he couldn’t stop.

“I know what my father is capable of. Not because I’ve read about it, not because he’s told me, not because of the papers. I know what he is capable of because I am living it!” Draco threw his quill across the room as his breathing became laboured.

“I am so sick of people seeing my father first. You judge me on his actions and his crimes. Your bloody eye watches me constantly as if I am a threat, or someone who has earned your suspicion. Instead of being a judgmental prick, how about you judge me for my own actions?”

Moody’s brows arched at his insolence, but Draco had long ago given up self-control.

“Punish me for what I have done, not what you assume I _will_ do.”

“It’s dangerous to allow those preconditioned for violence to go unsupervised.”

Draco scoffed. “You’re profiling me? Because my father was a criminal, then I must be as well? Shining role model, you are.”

“Statistics prove you are more likely to follow his behaviour.”

Draco eyed the clock before standing up with a flourish.

“And that’s why you are wrong. You think you know circumstances better than those who are living it. You judge firmly without ever knowing all the facts. That’s dangerous—especially for someone in power. I’m far more worried about what you can do to someone innocent than what my father might do with his money.”

“You aren’t done writing lines.”

Draco stopped at the door, not bothering to look at Moody longer than he had to.

“My hour is up.”

“Until next time.”

Draco would have been upset at the insinuation that he would be in detention again, but counting on the type of person Moody was, the man was probably right.

 

* * *

 

 

When Moody announced that he would perform the Imperius curse on them, Draco shook his head. That wasn’t happening.

“But that’s—isn’t that illegal?” Granger asked, a hesitance to her tone that Draco didn’t usually hear often.

“Dumbledore wants you to learn what it feels like,” Moody barked, his good eye on her and the magical one still on Draco. “If you’d rather learn when someone’s putting it on you out of your control, then be my guest.”

As Granger’s face pinked up and she began muttering about making a point and not wanting to actually leave, Draco narrowed his eyes at Moody.

“It’s been suggested that you all have an alternative. If you would rather be assigned reading material in the library, then the practical lesson need not apply to you.”

Draco stood up, gathering his bag as a few students joined him. When Neville didn’t stand, Draco looked to him in concern.

“It’s alright,” Neville whispered. “I’ll be fine.”

“Alright,” Draco said reluctantly. “Find me in the library when lessons are done?”

Neville smiled in agreement, albeit a little nervously.

Draco walked towards the door as he looked over his shoulder, sending a glare towards Moody. It was a warning, but also because he felt like it.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until the third lesson in the Imperius curse that more and more of his classmates joined him in the library.

Potter claimed he could throw off the curse, so there was no reason to watch the rest of them try.

“Is it the spell itself that has you not wanting to try?” Potter asked, pretending to be reading as Draco finished outlining his Charms essay.

“It’s the teacher. You are mental if you think I’m allowing him inside my mind.”

Potter frowned, confusion evident. “He’s not in your mind, he’s just—”

“No, he’s literally in your mind, Potter. Why do you think the spell is so dangerous? He’s focusing on a certain aspect that lets him control another person, which is the mind. The Imperius curse breaches the mental walls of the mind and allows him to wipe what is there for a short time to ensure that the victim does not fight back.”

An uneasy silence settled around them as Potter’s brows furrowed.

“Does that mean he can see thoughts in my mind? Like a mind reader?”

Draco laughed as he looked back to his essay.

“No, that’s Legilimency. But the Imperius curse is a form of Legilimency—just not as invasive.”

“Legilimency?”

The lack of knowledge caused Draco to sigh in annoyance. Why was there no class for students who grew up in muggle homes? Vital information was passed up that could have been useful before now.

“Legilimency is used to infiltrate the mind. It’s a spell that allows the user entry. If there are no defences, a Legilimens can break open any secret, see into every dream, and learn valuable information.”

“Defences?”

Draco rolled his eyes before putting away his homework, clearly it wouldn’t get done.

“Occlumency. It’s a means of protecting the mind from Legilimency.”

The knowledge of something to help seemed to calm Potter. He supposed discovering for the first time that someone could break open the mind would be troubling.

“And the Imperius curse and Legilimency are related how?”

“Well,” Draco began as he lifted his hands airily. “They both deal in the mind. The Imperius curse _is_ entering the mind, it’s accessing a part of you and allowing the caster to control you for a limited time. I’m not saying the two are identical. But the Imperius curse is a branch off of the same magic as Legilimency.”

“Would Occlumency help against the Imperius curse?” Potter wondered, worrying his lip in the process.

“Absolutely. But it’s not a requirement. You can be good at repelling the Imperius curse and be bad at Occlumency. Since the Imperius curse is a branch and not the same, it’s all probable.”

Potter cocked his head to the side as he regarded Draco closely. “Do you know Occlumency? Is that why you are okay without the lesson?”

“I know _some_ Occlumency. The calming methods, clearing the mind, and what to do if the mind is already infiltrated. But the defence part of Occlumency needs practice.”

“Did your parents teach you?”

Draco snorted harshly. “Merlin no. Why do you think I learned it in the first place?”

“I don’t under—” Potter’s previous furrowed brow mellowed as his face shuttered. Draco looked away, not wanting to see pity.

“I’m teaching myself,” Draco whispered to change the subject. “Hard to do, but I’ll get there—eventually.”

Potter cleared his throat, but before he could say anything, a flutter of wings had them looking up in time to see an owl land in front of Draco.

Draco took a shaky breath as he stared at the familiar envelope.

Everything fell away as he focused on another piece of his cousin.

Draco ignored Potter as he ripped open the letter, fingers just as shaky as his breathing.

 

* * *

 

 

**Dear cousin,**

_Do you ever wonder how long life will last? Not just in the present, but in general? Time seems so insignificant in day-to-day matters, but when one stops to think about it, time moves so quickly. My childhood both seems so far away and yet so current. Is it the experiences I learned that make it hard to forget? Hard to move on from?_

_When the hourglass stops, I wonder if I will look back on my life and think it was worth it. I wonder if when the last sand falls if my time was well spent._

_I know what I would like to say. I would like to think that my life meant something, but I fear that it doesn’t. My existence has harmed so many others, and I think that they could have been saved if it had not been for my presence._

_Logically, I realize that if I were not there, another Death Eater would have handled the task, but at least my crimes wouldn’t have been performed by me. What truly is my existence if all it has brought is nothing but torment for others?_

_How can I matter when nothing I have done is productive? And I don’t mean that in a career path, I mean productive in simple human decency. Who am I if not a monster? A monster who took time for granted, one that chose to be selfish while humanity suffered at my own hands._

_I suppose some will say that there’s always time to change, time to be someone else. But that isn’t in the stars for me. I don’t think anything I do in life will ever make up for who I chose to be._

_Is it childish to wish that I could go back and do it all over again? Make better choices? Choose better friends? Exist for others instead of myself? I don’t know._

_I think no matter how life went, I would always be the bad one. The one to make mistakes, the one to learn just a little too late to make a difference, the one to know who I could have been if I had had the chance._

_If I could, I might take a time-turner and choose to never exist, but would that do any good? Would my absence change a single thing? Or would it cause someone else to rise up in my place?_

_My time is running out. I have no explanation for why I believe that but there’s an unsettling vibe to the atmosphere, and I know that I won’t survive it. At this point, I am unsure if it will be by my own doing, or someone else’s._

_Either way, I will leave this world. I just hope that I can do one thing—one good act in my entire life. If that is these letters, then I’ll take it. If it's helping you in any way, then I'll grasp it._

_The longer I write, the more I wonder if it will mean something to you. Sometimes I think I am speaking into a void and no one can hear me. I want so desperately to be understood that I’m writing to someone who I’ll never get a chance to tell it all to._

_What does that say about me? Does it show an instability that needs help? Or does it show the true mark of desperation?_

_Is it sad that that is the appeal? That I don’t have to face your scrutiny or the judgment I have already seen? A judgment that is earned, I do not deny that._

_Life is so lonely. I know I have said that before, but I can’t shake the hollow emptiness that surrounds me. Time makes that loneliness bitter as it melts into something I can’t think about. I don’t know what my place in life is anymore. I go through the motions of a day that I can’t stand. I go through life both wishing and hating that time would run out quicker._

_I will welcome death as much as I can, really. Don’t misunderstand my intentions. I am not leaving this world in fear of life. When I leave this world, it will be with the knowledge that I can do better in another time, or in another world. There is nothing I can gain while my life is attached to the Dark Lord. There is no happy ending while my magic is bound in servitude to someone like that._

_I have no free will anymore. Sometimes I wonder if I ever did. Is it free will if it’s chosen for you? My dubious upbringing makes me wonder how informed I truly was. Was there another choice? Could I have been someone else?_

_Sirius. He had the same upbringing, the same teaching methods and the same punishments. If he could choose his own life, then I suppose there’s no complaints or excuses for me._

_No end for me will be good. No end for the Dark Lord will coincide with a happy ending for me. I will go down before his end, that I am positive of, but it will be with the belief that he is wrong._

_I will die knowing that the Dark Lord is an evil we all should fight against. Make no mistake, I will leave this world without any notion of his beliefs. I will find my own inner truth, even if no one but you will hear of it._

_That’s all I could ask for anyway._

_I just hope that I can meet you before the end. Even if you won’t remember it, even if you are just a baby. That time is approaching, and even if I don’t see you, know that you, dear cousin, mean a lot to me. The ear when no one wanted to listen._

_I am forever grateful for the moments I get to pour pieces of myself out to you. If only I could hear your side. I know I would like you, whoever you choose to be._

_Even if you walk down the wrong path or make many mistakes, you will always be worth it to me. Always be someone I will be proud of._

_You are always in my thoughts, take care._

 

**Love,**

**Regulus**

 

* * *

 

 

Draco blinked rapidly as his eyes began to sting. He both hated and loved the letters from Regulus. It was a moment in time, one that he couldn’t be a part of no matter how much he wished things could be different.

Part of him could imagine the loneliness that Regulus faced. It had taken a lot of courage on Draco’s part to approach Neville. Even with Dobby’s friendship, life had been lonely—that coupled with not knowing what do when it came to his father created a disassociation with other students. They got to be young and carefree. None of them had to worry about their future in such stark terms, and he envied them, might even hate them.

But none of that was the same pain as Regulus. Some people would look at Regulus’ mistakes and think the pain was justified—that it was his own fault. But that’s not what growth was about. Mistakes were a part of life, and no one is sin free. No one.

If Regulus could learn from his mistakes, then wasn’t that proof that he could have redemption?

Draco sighed as his mind argued that Regulus’ continued status and actions as a Death Eater overpowered any mental awareness over Regulus’ actions.

Knowing you are wrong, but doing it anyway wasn’t proof of change.

But could Regulus do anything? It wasn’t as if the Dark Lord would have allowed a Death Eater with a heart of gold under his supervision. Perhaps there was nothing for Regulus to do.

The grey moral standing had him uncomfortable. Draco knew that no matter who looked at Regulus or judged him, that he himself would always admire his cousin.

Regulus had been someone who knew they made mistakes and aimed to teach the next generation, even if it was only one person.

A single soul who took the chance that was offered and ran with it, and Draco certainly was going to take that chance.

It was a gift. Regulus was offering Draco a chance to be someone else. For once, Draco knew that no matter what happened in the future, he would never follow in Regulus’ steps. He couldn’t, not with everything laid before him.

Sure, the epiphany wasn’t surprising, he had known for years that that was where his mind was leaning, but the older he got, the more he was just done. Fed up with the wondering, fed up with the stares and the looks.

If he wanted people to stop seeing his father first when they looked to him, then he needed to give them a reason not to. Draco needed to show them who he was.

Someone they wouldn’t doubt, someone they could look at and only see Draco—not the Malfoy heir, not Lucius’ son. No, they would see Draco Malfoy and that would be it.

He just had to figure out how exactly to do that.

As Draco folded the letter, he couldn’t help but run his free hand through his hair in aggravation. Why was it all so complicated? Couldn’t choosing the right path be easy?

A noise brought Draco to the realization that he had forgotten about Potter—something hard to do.

Potter’s eyes were narrowed on the letter in Draco’s hand and he knew that it would raise questions—it always would when it came to Potter, the bloody nuisance.

“Is it hard knowing who you are?” Draco asked quietly.

Potter jerked his head slightly, clearly not expecting the question.

“I don’t know if I know who I am,” Potter admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know what people think I am, and I know what some people expect me to be. But myself? I don’t know if I want to know.”

Draco hummed curiously. “What do you mean?”

There was a pause before Potter smiled slightly. “I want to take my time. I want to be able to know who I am in my twenties, thirties or even my forties. I don’t want to know it all right now. I want to discover who I am slowly, but steadily increasing as I get older.”

“That sounds nice,” Draco added, tone wistful.

Potter tapped his fingers on the table restlessly. “I want to make mistakes, and I want to learn from them. I want to live with no expectations and no fear of what other people think.”

Draco knew the sound of a dream when he heard it. “That’s what you want, but not what you’ll get, right?”

A bitter smile pulled at Potter’s lips.

“I like to think that I will get it all, but I don’t know. I don’t think anyone does. I know that who I am makes people think they own parts of me. I’m watched, I know that people don’t think I can see it, but I do. I know that they all have an opinion on who I am supposed to be. But I don’t remember anyone ever asking _me_ that. Funny how that works.”

Before Draco could try and come up with something witty or slightly comforting to say, Potter looked up at him through his lashes, and suddenly he couldn’t remember his line of thought.

“You’re the first one to ever want to know.”

Draco looked down, and the heat to his cheeks had him angry at himself.

“Why did you want to know?” Potter asked, and Draco could have kissed him for the subject change.

Draco bit his lip as he tried to decide if letting Potter in was a good idea. He couldn’t tell anyone about Regulus, but he could still say _some_ things.

“I know who I want to be,” Draco admitted, eyes on the table. “I also know who I don’t want to be.”

He was thankful that Potter stayed quiet while he collected his thoughts. It was difficult admitting things that had always stayed internal.

“I know who I am expected to be, and I know the repercussions of all of it. None of the options are consequence free. Some choices leave me miserable but well off in social gain. Some leave me vulnerable but unrestricted in life. Some weigh down all sense of who I am but grant me powerful connections. Some lose all familial bonds, but I gain independence along the way.”

Draco threw his hands in the air, as lost as his mind.

“There’s so many choices in who I could be, and I just want to know if I’m making the right one.”

“Do any of the options lead you to happiness?” Potter asked quietly.

Draco laughed somewhat hysterically. “Potter, can you ever have something you’ve never experienced?”

When Potter’s eyes closed briefly, Draco knew that he _understood_ —at least the gist of it.

“Happiness is not part of the equation,” Draco said bitterly. “If I find it along the way, then great, but it’s low on what I consider important.”

“Maybe,” Potter began hesitantly. “Maybe you should trust your gut. That’s what I do when I don’t know what to do.”

Draco laughed as he rolled his eyes. “That’s so _Gryffindor_ of you.”

When Potter grinned, Draco had to look away, not used to someone other than Neville being so open.

“I’m sure whatever choice you decide to make, Malfoy, will be the right one for you. No one else. Because you chose it.”

Draco looked to Regulus’ letter and then back to Potter’s face. He was pretty sure they would have gotten along as well, if one could overlook the Gryffindor status.

“Thank you,” whispered Draco as he stood up to leave. “For a Gryffindor with a hero complex, you’re not so bad.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

Draco laughed as he grabbed his bag and began to walk away.

“For you, Potter, I always will.”

Perhaps Potter was right. The choice itself didn’t matter as much as Draco being the one to decide did. As long as he was the deciding factor, then it _was_ the right choice.

 

* * *

 

 

As Draco rounded the corner and stopped near Snape’s closed classroom, he wondered if perhaps he should have stayed in bed instead.

Granger was shaking a tin can and each passing moment, her hair appeared to grow bushier and wilder. Whatever she was selling, he wanted no part in it.

“Just give her a sickle and she’ll shut up,” Finnigan grumbled loud enough for everyone else in the hall to hear.

“The monetary support goes a long way,” Granger admitted reluctantly. “But I need people to listen, too.”

Draco tried to blend into the background, but unfortunately Pansy noticed him, and she loudly exclaimed, “Can you believe this, Draco? Granger here has started a club for house elves.”

“A club?” Draco asked, annoyed that he cared enough to speak up.

Granger huffed as she placed a curl behind her ear. “It’s not a club per se. S.P.E.W. is the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.”

Draco arched a brow. “And what exactly does your movement do?”

“House elves have been enslaved for centuries, and I aim to bring light to their suffering.”

“Mhm,” Draco hummed as he crossed his arms. “How exactly are you planning to do that?”

Granger stood up straighter as her eyes lit up. He got the impression no one had stopped to consider her words.

“By getting the house elves to fight back. Get them to demand compensation, wages and equal treatment.”

Several students laughed derisively, but that only seemed to spur Granger’s resolve further.

“That’s not going to work,” Draco spoke before she could start a long-winded lecture.

Granger glared, somewhat betrayed as she tensed.

“And why is that? Because you don’t think I can do it? Because you think they don’t want freedom? Well they are conditioned to think so.”

“Oh, I agree,” Draco admitted, keenly aware of his fellow Slytherins staring at him.

Granger spluttered slightly. “But if you agree, then why—”

Draco held up a hand as he tried to avoid looking at Potter who he _knew_ was giving him his full attention.

“They _are_ conditioned into thinking that they don’t want freedom. But expecting them to fight back against the oppression they have always known isn’t going to work. You need to tackle the law aspect first. You can’t just expect house elves to see your plans as a gift when you are taking away all they have ever known.”

“But they _deserve_ freedom,” Granger pressed, eyes nearly pleading.

Draco sighed heavily. “Freedom has always been a punishment, Granger. They have lived their whole lives with the threat of freedom hanging over their heads. You start telling house elves that you are going to make it so that they have the very thing they have feared for so long, you are going to have a disaster on your hands.”

“But freedom doesn’t have to be scary,” Granger argued hotly. “They could do a number of things and get paid for it. Their time can be well spent without having to be ordered around and demeaned at every opportunity.”

“What skills are you expecting them to take to these jobs?” Draco asked, wishing she would understand. “They have no training, no guidelines to follow. They don’t have any means to provide for themselves outside of their masters. But you expect them to rise up and revolt, leaving behind their flimsy security?”

“So I should do nothing?” Granger shook her head quickly. “I can’t see their suffering and just accept it.”

“I’m not saying do nothing,” Draco said softly. “You can’t expect to tell them that they are victims and then get upset when they choose not to see it your way. What your Spew club has, is a good message, but that’s all it is—a message. You have the end product, but nothing set up to achieve that goal.” Draco paused as he bit his lip.

“You need a plan, not just a message. One club isn’t enough to spark a movement. Take it to those who can do something about it. Take it to the ones who make the laws.”

“And if they won’t help?”

“Then do it for them. You’re smart, I’m sure the Ministry could use employees who have a message, and when you can, change the laws yourself. Be the change you are preaching.”

When Granger looked to the ground and her shoulders slumped, Draco almost felt bad.

“It’s a good message, you just aren’t quite there yet.”

Granger smiled sadly as she clutched the tin can to her chest.

“If it helps, you have my support for when you do figure it all out.”

A mischievous look entered her eyes, and he wondered if he had somehow made a mistake.

“I guess that means you’ll be needing this.” Granger handed Draco a badge with S.P.E.W on it.

Draco rolled his eyes before he pinned the badge to his robes. “Consider a name change in the future? Spew is horrid.”

“It’s _not_ Spew,” Granger argued as Weasley and Potter laughed.

As Draco turned around towards the now open door, he ignored Snape’s arched brows, ignored the narrowed gazes of his classmates and ignored his surroundings as he made his way towards his seat.

It wasn’t smart to be open with his opinions, but Draco was just tired—tired of repressing everything. If Spew got back to his father, then oh well. That would be a battle for another day.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Harry Potter!”_

Draco’s mouth parted in surprise; something he wasn’t proud of. As whispers and angry cries broke out across the great hall, he only had eyes for Potter.

Potter’s expression was horrified, stunned and gobsmacked. That alone had something unsettling curl inside of Draco. That wasn’t the face of someone who entered on their own, that wasn’t someone who was proud to break the rules. That was the face of someone who had been blind sighted.

Potter hadn’t entered.

When Granger had to shove Potter to get moving, Draco knew something wasn’t right. Potter was a terrible actor, and the numb expression on his face was real.

If Potter hadn’t entered his name, then who did?

 

* * *

  

People are fickle. That much was clear as Draco watched Potter become a social pariah from everyone but his own house.

Potter normally held the respect of most students, but they all believed in falsities so easily—it was disgusting, really. Where was free thought? Why did people conform so easily to their neighbour? When a chunk of people believe in something why should that be the only basis for others to concede?

The evidence against Potter wasn’t exactly promising. Potter was a rule breaker. But to get past Dumbledore’s own spells? Yeah, that wasn’t in his expertise, and that should’ve been obvious to everyone else. Not to mention Potter wasn’t one to do things selfishly; so why was that forgotten in the haste to condemn?

Why make Potter the enemy? Because it’s easier to blame than to dig deeper? Because word of mouth somehow became more reliable than the actual truth?

Draco wasn’t sure what to think when it came to the whole situation, but the only clear thing was that Potter wasn’t faring well. Potter hardly smiled anymore, a rift had formed with Weasley, and even Granger appeared to be fraying as she took on a mediator role.

Being infamous compared to Potter being famous had given Draco plenty of experience in how the public views people negatively. That was something he would prefer Potter not to face, but as he looked towards the Gryffindor table and watched Potter stab his potatoes viciously with a fork, he knew that it was already too late for that.

 

* * *

 

 

“Humanity is flawed,” Draco announced as he plopped down next Potter near the Black Lake.

“Is this supposed to be comforting?” Potter retorted, an amused smile lifting the corner of one lip.

“I like to think so.” Draco shrugged once before picking up a rock and chucking it in the lake. “The knowledge that all of humanity is flawed lets us know that we are all the same in that aspect. You’ll never find someone who is perfect, they don’t exist, but their flaws are what make them stand out.”

“Sometimes negatively,” Potter argued as he theatrically skipped a rock, as if showing the proper technique.

“What you see as a negative isn’t the same as what I might see. Just because some people choose to condemn what they don’t know, doesn’t mean that the rest of us will. Flaws don’t have to have an underlying morality to matter. It’s okay to be flawed, it’s okay to have aspects of yourself that other people don’t agree with.”

“But when the majority of those that see it as a negative pile up, then the few who see it as a positive are drowned out,” Potter said quietly, no longer skipping rocks and just holding them tightly.

“Only if you let them,” Draco argued. “If you allow those voices the power to sway your opinion of yourself, then those who are drowning won’t ever make a difference. Why silence those who wish to help? Doing so only raises the negativity.”

“Easier said than done,” said Potter almost wistfully. “I hear what you are saying, and I appreciate it, but I don’t know how to use any of it.”

“Giving advice is far easier than to take it,” Draco mused thoughtfully. “I don’t know how to help you there. I think support plays a vital role. If you have an outlet to go to, then it doesn’t matter what the rest of the world is saying.”

Potter looked down, frown in place and fingers clenched. “I don’t have much of a support system lately.”

Draco had never gotten along with Weasley, didn’t particularly like him, but seeing Potter’s obvious hurt had Draco wishing he could fix it. And wasn’t that a disturbing notion?

“I’m not much for support,” Draco began hesitantly. “But I can listen well, and even offer overbearing opinions at any given time.”

Potter smiled warmly at Draco. “Sounds like you know a lot about support to me.”

“Well, just don’t get used to it.” Draco shoved Potter lightly as he stared towards the lake and wondered why it was easy to talk so openly with Potter. It shouldn’t be like that—it didn’t make much sense—but as Potter hummed a tune Draco didn’t recognize and began skipping rocks again, he realized that the reasons didn’t matter.

All that mattered was the company.

 

* * *

 

 

It took several attempts just to get Draco mentally prepared. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing it. It wasn’t as if it would be appreciated by anyone, and it would only produce a headache.

“Can I sit here?” Draco asked without really caring for an answer.

“No.”

Weasley clenched his jaw as Draco ignored him and sat down anyway. They were nearing the end of a Care of Magical Creatures class. Most of their classmates were hiding from the Blast-Ended Skrewts, and it made the chance of a discussion possible.

“I was always jealous of you.”

Weasley jerked on the log they were sitting on. _“What?”_

Draco ignored the incredulous look as he got to the crux of Weasley’s problem—and maybe his own too.

“Well, perhaps it’s more of your family than you. There’s so many of you.” When Weasley frowned, Draco held up a hand. “I don’t mean that negatively. I’m an only child. A child born solely for my parents to have an heir. If you think I matter to them in means of who I am, then you would be mistaken.”

Weasley’s frown deepened, but Draco wasn’t sure what it meant.

“Your parents love you,” Draco whispered as he looked to his hands. “I’ve seen the way they look at you and your siblings. Seen the way they kiss you goodbye or hug you when the school year ends.” It was embarrassing to admit any of it.

“I don’t have that. I used to wonder why I couldn’t—why me? But I don’t think I’ll ever have an answer to that. Some people are born lucky, and others aren’t. It’s just the way life goes.”

“You think I’m lucky?” Weasley scoffed harshly. “I have to compete for attention. There are a lot of us, and that’s a negative most days. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like you will never match up to an older sibling. To feel as if nothing you do will be on the same level. I have their love, but that’s all I have. We struggle more than my parents would like me to believe.”

“I don’t know what it’s like to struggle financially,” Draco admitted as his brows furrowed. “But I would give my entire heritance to have what you have. I would spend any amount of money that I possess if it meant that my parents could look at me and be proud. Proud of who I am. Just once, Weasley. I just want to be told that they love me, _just once_.”

Weasley’s face twisted with an emotion that Draco wasn’t sure he could recognize.

“Maybe people want what they don’t have,” Draco continued, uncomfortable with the way Weasley watched him. “It’s a human thing to do, I think.”

“You can’t buy love,” Weasley said.

“No, you can’t.”

“Love won’t give you financial security.”

“No, it won’t,” Draco agreed.

“Looks like we both have it rough.”

Draco snorted. “I suppose so.” He bit his lip before seeking out Potter, who was watching them closely. “This isn’t my place, but Potter would give up his money to have what you have, too.”

Weasley looked to the ground as his face reddened slightly. “I know.”

“Attention to those who don’t want it never sounds as good as to those who seek it.”

“Have you been spending time with Trelawney?”

A startled laugh left Draco as he shook his head. “I suppose that does sound a bit vague.”

“I’ve been a right prat,” Weasley said quietly, a tinge of sadness overtaking his tone.

“Perhaps, but that’s not my place to judge. Your emotions however erratic they may be, are still valid.”

“What happened to you?”

Before Draco could ask what he meant, Weasley continued.

“You never used to be so calm, or open, and definitely never so wise.”

“You never knew me, Weasley,” Draco pointed out as he looked away. “But I came in contact with someone who taught me how to be better, and I’m trying to listen.”

“This might not mean anything to you, but I can see a difference, and I think it suits you.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile. “It does mean something to me. Thank you.”

“Harry notices, too.”

When Draco looked up, he caught a mischievous look in Weasley’s eyes and that worried him.

“Why should I care what Potter thinks?”

Weasley snorted as he shook his head. “Right. I don’t know how you can be so wise one minute and then so stupid the next.”

“Excuse you?” Draco placed his hands on his hips as he glared at Weasley.

“I think you do care what Harry thinks. I think you care far more than you want to believe.”

Draco looked to his hands, unwilling to see any triumph in Weasley’s eyes when his cheeks felt hotter.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“That’s alright. You don’t have to own up to anything. Just think about it?”

“Why should I?” Draco demanded, comfortable enough to glare again.

Weasley glanced towards Potter who was talking with Granger, both who were looking in their direction.

“If I have to explain it to you, then you aren’t ready to hear it.”

“Now who has been spending too much time with Trelawney?” Draco drawled, smirking when Weasley laughed.

Weasley stood up, a small smile on his face. “I’ve got some mistakes to mend, but thank you, Malfoy. You aren’t so bad.”

“I know.”

The sound of Weasley laughing as he walked away was enough for Draco to realize he had done well. He had gotten involved in issues that had nothing to do with him and spoke when unneeded, but still—he had helped, and that was he had set out to do.

When Potter hugged Weasley tightly, Draco knew he was smiling stupidly, but he couldn’t have stopped if he tried.

 

* * *

 

 

“Congratulations, Potter,” Draco said as he stopped in front of the golden trio. “You didn’t die.”

Watching Potter go up against a dragon had been an experience Draco never expected to see, nor did he want to see it again. The Triwizard Tournament was archaic and dangerous—whoever wanted it revived was an utter moron.

“Is the bar set that low?” Potter returned, a smile already taking over.

“If your expectations aren’t high, then nothing can disappoint you.”

“Spoken like someone who doesn’t put out the maximum effort.”

Draco shook his head as Weasley mumbled something about flirting and why they should do it on their own time.

Potter cleared his throat as he glared at Weasley.

“Thank you, though—for the congratulations.”

Awkward. It was all very awkward, and Draco couldn’t understand why that would be.

“This is painful,” Weasley whispered loudly.

“Ron!” Granger hissed with an accompanied nudge.

“Well,” Draco looked around as he wished he hadn’t come over in the first place. “I’m going to go, but—uh—I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” Potter smiled as he rubbed the back of his neck. “See you around, Malfoy.”

Oh, Merlin. Draco was never doing that again.

“You need to work on your flirting, mate.” Weasley’s voice carried after Draco and he was thankful no one could see the heat to his cheeks.

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“Obviously,” Weasley snorted, mirth overpowering Potter’s objections.

Stupid Weasleys and their wrong opinions. Potter hadn’t been flirting. He wasn’t entirely sure what they had been doing. But flirting wasn’t one of them.

Right?

 

* * *

 

 

Yule ball. Draco was positive it was a horrible idea. What did dancing matter in the scheme of the tournament? Seemed like an excuse to dress up and act like school unity existed.

It was strange going from someone most people left alone to someone that they wanted to take to the ball. Sure, it was only other Slytherins, but Draco’s declining reputation had given him an assumption that he would be left alone.

Draco’s eyes widened when Pansy walked towards him. He had been avoiding her since the announcement of the ball. It wasn’t that he disliked her—no, actually that was it—he didn’t like her. Pansy could be entertaining when she wasn’t bullying other students, but her interest in him meant that they rarely talked; she would stare, and he would flounder for something to either say or give an excuse to leave.

He turned around and headed back through the open doors as he ignored his growling stomach. No dinner was better than the awkward refusal Draco would have to give her.

As he rounded the corner, he almost walked into Potter.

“Sorry,” Draco apologized. “Didn’t expect anyone to be there.”

Potter rubbed the back of his neck in a gesture Draco knew meant that he was nervous. “I was actually looking for you.”

“Were you?” Draco arched a brow when Potter looked away.

“Hermione has been bugging me for weeks, and even Ron has started to notice.”

“Notice what?”

“And it’s not like I needed the push, really, I would have done it on my own.”

“Done what?”

“It’s just this whole ball has been getting on my nerves. Suddenly every tosser who was glaring at me last month is now batting their eyelashes at me. It’s not attractive either, I think a few look like they might have an eye condition, but Ron said it’s not nice to ask that kind of thing, so I didn’t say anything—”

“Potter.” Draco was amused the longer Potter rambled. It was almost endearing.

“And I noticed that a few people approached you too, which I get. I had to ask Neville if you said yes to any of them. After he stopped laughing at me—which is rather rude—I found out that you said no. Which I guess is a good thing, although that has me nervous because—”

“ _Potter_.” It came out breathless, but Draco couldn’t help that as he began to understand. “Are you asking me to go to the ball with you?”

Potter nodded several times, hard enough to have his unruly hair falling forward. “I’d like to.”

“You’d like to ask me?” Draco teased, enjoying the way Potter appeared timid—something he had never seen when it came to him. “Or you’d like to go with me?”

“Both.” Potter smiled somewhat shyly, and Draco realized exactly what Weasley meant.

Draco looked down as his emotions cycled through many feelings. He wanted to say yes, wanted to go with Potter—but could he do that? That was a bold statement. There would be no way to keep that quiet. His father would find out and Draco wasn’t sure he was ready to face his parents.

“Unless you don’t want to go?” Potter’s voice was unsure and that had Draco’s stomach sinking.

“No, I do,” he promised, peering up into worried green eyes. “It’s just… my father will find out. If we do this, I don’t know if I can go back. I won’t be able to keep up a façade, not with the evidence against everything else.”

“If—” Potter bit his lip before sighing. “If you aren’t ready for that, that’s okay. I can—”

“No,” Draco shook his head as he held up his hands, stalling whatever Potter might take back.

“I want to go with you.” He felt his cheeks heat up, but the truth of the statement rang through. It didn’t matter if things changed. Draco wanted it—wanted one night to himself—one night where he didn’t have to think about his future, his father or anyone else.

“Are you sure?” Of course Potter was still worried, the idiot didn’t know when to be selfish. “Because we can always—”

“Will you go to the ball with me?” Draco interrupted, his smile growing as Potter’s eyes sparkled.

“That was my line.”

“You took too long.”

Potter grinned too wide to be attractive, but Draco didn’t care, not when he hadn’t seen something so bright before.

“Yes, I would love to,” Potter breathed, a smile still in place.

“Can we—” Draco cut off as he shook his head.

“Yes?” The patience to Potter’s tone was the only thing that kept Draco from changing the subject.

“Can we leave it all behind? Forget everything else? I just want—” Draco knew he was blushing, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. “I just want to have a memorable night with you.”

Potter smiled softly, a tender expression that had Draco feeling unworthy.

“Forget who we are? I’ll just be Harry, and you can just be Draco?”

The sound of his name falling from Potter’s lips had Draco’s own parting in surprise.

“Yes, please.”

Potter leaned forward and whispered, “I’d like that. The ball can be a night for ourselves.”

Before he could agree, Potter kissed Draco’s cheek once before stepping back. Potter was blushing and that had Draco secure in his own embarrassment.

“Goodbye, Malfoy.”

Draco waited until Potter was already gone before softly mumbling, “Bye, Harry.”

The Yule Ball suddenly didn’t seem so bad.

 

* * *

 

 

“So,” Neville began in a tone that had Draco wishing he was anywhere else. “Harry was asking about you.”

There was a smug aura to Neville, and Draco _hated_ it.

“Oh?”

“Mhm…” Neville trailed off suggestively, but Draco ignored that and examined his nails.

“Did he find you?”

“Possibly.”

Neville glared darkly. “Draco, I want gossip and you are making this rather hard to do.”

Draco bit his lip to stop from smiling.

“He might have asked me to the Yule Ball.”

The gasp Neville released had Draco laughing.

“I _knew_ it! Ah, vindication has never been so sweet.”

Draco arched a brow as he tilted his head. “What are you on about?”

“You two have been in this weird _thing_ for a while now, and I’m finally getting the proof.”

“Thing?”

Neville waved his hand in an odd gesture, as if Draco was supposed to know what that meant.

“Circling each other, the stares, the teasing, the flirting, the stares, the conversations.”

“You said ‘stares’ twice.”

Neville rolled his eyes far too slowly to not be dramatic. “I know. You two have issues.”

“I think a lot of people have issues. It’s human nature.”

“I think you can bullshit your way out of anything,” Neville returned with a wide grin as Draco glared at him.

“Say you are right,” Draco began as he ignored the way Neville perked up. “You think one dance is going to change anything?”

“Draco, it changes _everything_.” There was a twinge of desperation in Neville’s voice and it had Draco worried.

“Why?”

Neville sighed before looking at the table. “I think Harry could be good for you. I’m your friend, and I know you have Dobby, but that’s all you have.”

It was getting far too uncomfortable as the bitter sting of Neville’s words echoed in Draco’s mind.

“That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“No,” Neville agreed. “But he likes you.”

“I like him, too.” The words barely whispered and far too vulnerable.

Neville smiled softly as he placed a hand on the back of Draco’s.

“I know that. He knows that. The whole bloody school knows that.”

Draco withdrew his hand as he ignored the way Neville snickered. Some friend he was.

“My father—”

“Is a right arse that could use a transfiguration into a doxy.”

When Draco peered at Neville curiously, Neville shrugged once and said, “My gran says that about Fudge all the time. It seemed like it would fit.”

Draco’s shoulders shook as he couldn’t hold in his laughter. “Be that as it may, he’s going to find out.”

Neville bit his lip as his posture slumped. “So you turned Harry down?”

“No,” Draco whispered. “I said yes.”

There was no warning before Neville launched forward and wrapped his arms around Draco.

“This is a big step. Plan _Lucius Gets Owned_ is underway.”

“What?” Draco shook his head as his arms stayed by his side as Neville smothered him. “What plan is this?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Neville wasn’t very good at faking nonchalance. “Just something I’ve been thinking about for a while.”

Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. Neville could be eccentric at times.

“When it all goes to shite, will you still be here with me?”

“You know I will,” Neville promised. “We’re best friends, Draco. That’s not going to change.”

The tension that had been slowly mounting evaporated at Neville’s words, and Draco finally hugged Neville back.

“I think I’d be lost without you.”

“Lost? No.” Neville shook his head quickly. “Depressed? Maybe. Bitter? Probably. Less cool? Absolutely.”

Draco shoved Neville away as Neville laughed loudly. “Get off me you prat.”

As he watched the genuine happiness on Neville’s face, Draco knew that Neville had been right. He might not have been lost if they had never been friends, but Draco would have missed out on the chance of having someone as wonderful as Neville in his life.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco walked down the stairs that lead to the Great Hall nervously. Many people had asked him who he was going with, but he hadn’t wanted to say. Not with any chance it might make it to his father earlier than expected.

When Draco found out that Potter was wearing green robes, he charmed his own black and silver robes to entwine with green threads. It wouldn’t be noticeable to many, but he hoped Potter would get the significance.

Most students were craning their necks to discover who the other champions had brought, so Draco was able to get by without much effort.

“Diggory brought _Cho_?” Someone nearby asked in a scathing tone. “Why a Ravenclaw? And her to boot? There are much prettier girls out there.”

“Sounds like jealousy to me,” Draco mumbled loud enough for a few people to turn to look at him.

When a girl with copper hair swung around to glare, her eyes widened at Draco before they narrowed.

“No one asked you. I see you don’t have a date. Did Parkinson say no? She would be the only one who would want to go with _you_.”

Draco wasn’t impressed with her tone. If she was going for intimidating, then she was well off the mark. He wasn’t sure she looked familiar either. If someone was that adamant in their dislike, then shouldn’t he know them?

Before Draco could retort, an arm slid around his waist. By the way the girl’s eyes widened, he knew it was Potter.

“I’m not Parkinson, but I’m sure I look just as good,” Potter said with a hard edge to his tone that didn’t do anything for Draco—it _didn’t_.

When her mouth dropped open, Potter looked at her in faux confusion. “Who are you?”

The girl hurried away, face red and head bowed.

“Are you my Auror in shining robes?”

A startled laugh escaped Potter. “That’s a twist on the saying. I kind of wanted to be your knight.”

“A Muggle knight?” Draco mused as other students took notice of the two of them—Potter’s hand still around his waist.

“Only if I can be a knight too,” Draco conceded.

“My knight?” Potter’s eyes were sparkling with mirth and Draco didn’t care that it was at his own expense.

“Maybe. I rather like the idea of being my own knight. I’m the hero of my own story.”

“Potter is taking _Malfoy_ ,” someone in the crowd whispered, but Draco didn’t care, not when Potter smiled at him.

When the doors opened, and the champions brought their dates forward, Draco knew he’d have to let everything else fade as they took their positions.

“I’m not the best dancer,” admitted Potter sheepishly.

“That’s alright,” Draco whispered, he waited until Potter smiled gratefully before continuing. “I didn’t expect you to be. With your two left feet and all.”

Potter’s right eye twitched and it caused Draco to snort.

“Don’t worry, Potter. I’ll be the knight and save you from yourself.”

“I suddenly feel like I should have gone stag.” The insult fell flat as Potter grinned.

“Put your arms around my neck,” said Draco as he ignored Potter.

Potter frowned slightly. “That’s not a waltz position, right?”

“We aren’t going to waltz.”

“But McGonagall said that it’s tradition—”

“Who cares what she said. The waltz is outdated, we aren’t 80-year-old wizards who do nothing but sip on Elfish wine and berate the younger generation while they gossip about the days when they could prostrate around and pretend they were Merlin incarnate.”

Potter blinked rapidly. “That’s rather specific.”

Draco shrugged playfully. “You’ve never been to one of my father’s charity events. Tradition is archaic in most cases. Besides, you never wanted to be a champion in the first place. Live a little, be a rebel—I thought Gryffindors liked to break the mould.”

When Potter watched Draco with an intensity he wasn’t used to, he wondered if perhaps he had said something wrong.

Potter slowly wrapped his arms around Draco’s neck and pulled him forward. Their closeness was more than Draco anticipated, and his breath left him.

“You can _so_ be my knight.”

Draco laughed loudly before tightening his hold on Potter as the music started.

It would never fully count as dancing, but they swayed when they should have, and they were on beat, mostly—but most of their movements were distracted as they locked eyes.

Draco wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

* * *

 

“Can you believe she took _him_ to the ball?” Weasley spat as soon as Draco and Potter took a break at a nearby table by Patil.

“Who?” Potter asked as he craned his head and looked around the room.

“Hermione,” Ron said slowly, furrowed brows and frown present. “She came with Krum, didn’t you see?”

Draco and Potter shared a surprised look as they shook their heads.

“We didn’t notice,” Draco said.

“How? They danced next to you.”

Before Draco could point out that it’s rude to notice other dance partners, a new voice interrupted.

“That’s because they only had eyes for each other,” Neville chimed in with enough of a smug tone that Draco squeezed Potter’s hand.

When Potter twisted his hand to entwine their fingers, Draco’s snappish retort died on his tongue as his cheeks heated.

“I think it’s cute.”

Draco looked to Weaslette, who had spoken. He wasn’t sure what to make of her. She had a blatant crush on Potter—at least she did years ago, he wasn’t sure about her interests now. Draco just hoped that she cared for Neville at least a little bit.

“Thank you,” Draco told her, eyes watching as she smiled before stepping closer to Neville.

“Are you going to ask me to dance or not,” Patil interrupted loudly, causing the rest of them to shift on their feet awkwardly.

Weasley shook his head as he glared off into the distance. Patil grunted before she stormed away, shooting Weasley her own look of contempt.

“Usually, people dance at these kinds of things,” Draco drawled, a smirk forming when Weasley flipped him off.

“Ron, are you okay?” Potter’s hesitance had Draco curious.

Weasley grunted, as if that was a significant use of language.

“She’s fraternizing with the enemy.”

“Enemy?” Draco asked as his brows arched. “Krum is the enemy? Enemy of what? He’s got a unibrow and off centered feet—I’ve seen kneazles with meaner dispositions.”

Potter’s lips twitched as Weasley’s frown seemed to deepen.

“I think it’s just jealousy,” Draco continued, ignoring the warning glances Potter sent his way. “If you care so much about her dance partner, you should have asked her to be your date. I do think she would have said yes.”

Weasley spluttered inelegantly, causing Draco’s nose to wrinkle.

“Being friends is a good start. But this jealousy? I’d be careful with what you say to her. I mean—”

“Okay!” Potter pulled Draco away as Weasley opened his mouth. “Dinner’s about to start and McGonagall has said I have to eat with the other champions.”

It wasn’t until they reached the table did Potter speak.

“You shouldn’t bait him so much.”

“It’s so easy.”

Potter attempted to look stern, but Draco could see that he was partially amused.

“You’re lucky—” Draco turned to Potter when he stalled, curious as to what had stopped him. Potter was searching the tables—what for? Draco wasn’t sure.

“There’s a spot right there,” Draco nodded towards Weasley’s older brother.

“Yes, but I don’t—”

“Harry!” Elder Weasley called, drawing the attention of several people. Draco never could remember his name. Periwinkle? Parcel? Preston? Something with a P. “I’ve saved you a seat.”

Draco tried to hide his amusement at the way Potter’s shoulders slumped, but Potter’s glare let him know it hadn’t worked.

It wasn’t until they were seated, and the rest of the guests sat down that he realized he should have looked for another seat with Potter; Karkaroff’s calculating stare was the first thing to greet him.

“Malfoy, I presume?”

Draco took a breath as he nodded. “Mister Karkaroff, my father has told me all about you.”

An awkward smile that aimed for being polite was sent his way, but he rather thought it was a grimace.

“All good things I hope?”

“No.”

Potter coughed in a horrible attempt at hiding a laugh.

Karkaroff’s face froze, grimace falling flat. “Pardon me?”

“He did, however, mention you had a wonderful track record with endurance.”

“Endurance?” Karkaroff’s eyes narrowed as he frowned.

“It would appear that you know how to run,” Draco whispered lowly, aware that Weasley was edging closer to them.

Karkaroff paled, eyes wide with something akin to fright.

“Now, now, Draco, best not to be impolite,” Severus warned before striking up a conversation with Karkaroff, who looked faint with relief to let the conversation go.

“It would seem that you bait everyone,” Potter whispered.

Draco shrugged as he looked to Potter. “It’s a gift.”

“Could be dangerous,” Potter contradicted. “Especially if you bait the wrong person.”

Before Draco could respond, Weasley pulled Potter into a boring conversation regarding Ministry policies. He could have saved him, but what was the fun in that?

As Draco observed the other contestants, he noticed that they all seemed to be absorbed in either the food or their dates. It was a pleasant atmosphere, which tamed the worry that it would all end in disaster.

When Potter reached blindly for Draco’s hand, he realized that even if things ended in Fiendfyre, their night would have been worth it. One night might be all they were given, and Draco was going to make the best of it.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you want to dance?” Draco asked as the tables were cleared, and students rushed to the floor. Potter grimaced lightly, much to his amusement.

“I can lead if that would make it better?”

Potter smiled slightly. “I’m not very good at dancing, I think we only did well because we never did the waltz.”

“Would you rather do something else?”

That had Potter looking around the room, eyes locked onto Weasley and surprisingly Patil. Had they worked out their issues?

“Maybe we could take a walk? I don’t feel like dancing, and if we stay I know Ron will want to talk about Hermione and Krum.”

“A walk sounds nice,” Draco said, a soft smile in place.

Seeing the castle grounds with someone else changed the outlook on _everything._ Draco wasn’t sure if he had ever noticed how quaint Hagrid’s cottage was before, or whether the Black Lake had ever shined so much. Small things changed next to Potter, and he wasn’t sure whether he liked it.

“I really liked tonight,” Potter whispered as they stopped near an ostentatious fountain that Draco’s father definitely would buy for no other reason than to put in the guest bathroom. “Being with you, I mean.”

Draco felt his cheeks heat up as he nodded quickly, unable to get the words to form. What was it about Potter that caused such a reaction?

“I wasn’t entirely sure you would say yes,” continued Potter. “You tend to be intimidating.”

“ _I_ tend to be intimidating? What about you?”

“Yeah, but you’ve got the face thing—”

“What’s wrong with my face?” Draco asked, knowing it would fluster Potter.

“Nothing! I didn’t mean—” Potter glared when Draco snickered. “I should have expected that.”

Draco smiled softly, the smirk he intended to give falling easily. “You really should have.”

They stared at each other, emotions Draco hoped weren’t in his eyes shown in Potter’s.

Before either spoke, a conversation wafted over, causing them both to freeze.

“Another what?” Madam Maxine’s shrill voice had Draco wincing.

“Another half-giant o’ course,” Hagrid said, confusion evident.

When Madam Maxine screeched her denial, Draco pulled Harry back and away from where they would cross paths.

“I should have realized,” Draco mumbled more to himself than Potter. “My stupidity just thought he had been on the receiving end of an irreversible enlargement hex.”

“What?”

“Hagrid being a half-giant,” Draco prompted, eyebrow arched when Potter shook his head. “You didn’t know?”

“Does it matter?”

Draco scoffed before he realized that Potter was serious. Where was the training? How did Hogwarts expect students without a magical background, and no means to fix that, compete against those who have known magic all their lives? The school system was a mess, and Draco liked to think it was the government's fault.

“Not to those who are his friends, but people are prejudiced, Potter. They will take his birth status as a reason to demean him. Being half-giant is looked down upon.”

“Why?” The disgusted tone had Draco’s lips tilting downward slightly.

“Normally, I’d say it’s just how the world is, but that’s a terrible answer. I think part of it is that people are uneducated. They don’t realize that they were born with advantages and privileges that others don’t have. It’s not something that’s usually noticed until pointed out. Even if they aren’t cruel, they still benefit from those circumstances.”

“Like you did?”

Draco jerked his head. “I’m still learning how to be better. It’s not a one-time thing nor is it enough to be conscious of the system; I have to work every single day at being someone else. Perhaps I’m not the best person to teach you this considering it hasn’t been long for my own reformed thoughts. If you want a true explanation, you’ll have to ask Hagrid. Someone who has personally lived through the hatred, the oppression and the prejudice. It’s his voice that matters, his experiences, not mine.”

When Potter regarded him softly, Draco felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t often he got to express his thoughts in such a nature. Dobby and Neville were the only ones he talked to freely.

“Do you think there will be a fallout from this?”

Draco shrugged. “Only if Hagrid or Madam Maxine tells other people.”

As they walked back towards the ball, Draco wondered what Regulus thought. He knew his cousin’s thoughts on the past war, Muggleborns, Muggles and even death. But what of Magical Creatures? Did he hold the belief that they mattered as well? Draco hoped so.

Everyone mattered.

When they stopped by Weasley to relax, Potter immediately began regaling Weasley of what they heard.

“Blimey,” Weasley whispered. “There’s nothing wrong with being a half-giant.”

“I know,” Potter said just as quietly. “Malfoy told me the same.”

“Did he now?”

Draco looked away when Weasley seemed amused. He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Draco!”

There was no time to prepare as his lap was full of a panting Neville.

“Where have you been? I’ve been dancing this whole time.”

“Get off me,” Draco ordered, knowing full well that Neville didn’t do anything he didn’t want to.

“How’s your night been?”

Draco looked over to see Potter watching them curiously.

“I’ve had fun.”

The arms around his neck tightened as Neville grinned.

“That’s good, because if I had to see you pine any longer I was—”

Draco shoved Neville to the floor. “Get off me, you uncivilized twat.”

“Oi!” Neville cried as he laughed loudly. “Would it kill you to be gentle? I bruise easily.”

“Good,” Draco said as he held out a hand to pull Neville up. “Might make you rethink what you say.”

They shared a look before ginning, they knew neither one of them were into censoring their thoughts.

“Did you have fun?” Draco wondered as Neville sat on his other side, and he looked around for Weasley’s sister.

“I did. Ginny is talking to a few friends.” Neville pointed towards a few Ravenclaws.

“That’s good,” Draco whispered as he placed his head on Neville’s shoulder. “You deserve to be happy.”

“They have a strange friendship,” Weasley whispered, voice loud enough to carry.

Neville and Draco snorted softly, neither refuting the statement.

Draco reached out a hand to entwine his fingers with Potter. That was the finishing touch to a wonderful night.

A night Draco would always remember.

 

* * *

 

 

The Great Hall broke out in whispers when a howler landed in front of Draco.

He knew who had sent it, knew that word had gotten back to his father about the ball. Two days had been far more generous than Draco would’ve thought.

He took a deep breath before he ripped the envelope in half.

It had been a long shot, but it was better than allowing his father’s yells to reverberate around the room.

The Howler multiplied into three and they all began smoking. In Draco’s panic, he threw them on the floor and sent a bombarda at them.

Chaos erupted as his fellow Slytherins ran at the noise of the walls shaking, some rubble falling onto the table and into the food.

McGonagall gave him a weeks’ worth of detention, but it was worth it. Anything was worth not having to listen to his father.

It was a short-term fix, Draco knew that, but he couldn’t help feeling accomplished.

As he sat down, determined to pretend nothing was amiss, Draco felt eyes on him. It was Potter, he didn’t have to look up to know that—but it wasn’t an instance where he wanted to share. Potter liked to fix things, save people, and generally make things worse in the hopes of making it better.

Draco couldn’t be fixed, couldn’t be saved, and nothing could ever make his father better.

Potter would have to be someone else’s knight.

 

* * *

 

 

When Potter jumped into the lake with zero signs of any magic, Draco knew that his heart would never be the same.

“What just happened?” Draco asked as he clutched Neville’s arm and stared unseeingly into the lake, silently demanding answers from the murky water. “There are only a few rare spells that show no trace. I doubt he knew those.”

“I’m not sure.” Neville was watching the spot Potter disappeared from with a frown. “There are many plants that have magical affinities that could help.”

They looked at each other before they both groaned.

“Gillyweed,” they sad in unison as Draco slapped his forehead.

“That won’t last long,” Draco pointed out, eyes still searching the water.

“Long enough.”

If only Draco was as confident was Neville.

 

* * *

 

 

Moral fibre? Draco was positive only Potter would’ve been able to pull that off.

He watched as the champions were applauded and congratulated. Part of him wanted to go up there and offer Potter his own congratulations, but Draco wasn’t sure it was the proper time.

“You going to say anything?” Neville nudged Draco in the shoulder as they began walking back to the castle.

“No, I don’t think I will,” whispered Draco as he tried not to look at Potter as they passed.

“I thought we were past this.”

“Past what?” Denial, such a beautiful concept.

Neville sighed too heavily to not be theatrics. “What happened? You were happy at the dance.”

Draco knew he could brush it off, push Neville away until the subject was dropped—but he didn’t want to; didn’t want to push away his only friend.

“I was,” Draco admitted, not taking his eyes off the trail. “But I went into it wanting one night. Just one night that I could remember and hold onto.”

“And?”

“And I want more. I want more than one night. That’s something I can’t ask of him.”

“Why not?”

Neville seemed so put out, and the thought had Draco smiling.

“Nev, you saw what my father sent. He knows I went with Potter, and if I don’t have a legitimate excuse over the summer, then I’m fucked.”

“You can stay with me.”

Draco stilled, everything else forgotten as he turned to peer at Neville incredulously.

“Gran, she’s not the nicest, but she’s not—well, she’s not your father.” Neville winced before fiddling with his robes.

“She knows we are friends, and while she’s not thrilled with the idea, she noticed how good you are for me, and you _know_ you are.”

Draco felt his heart shatter and grow bigger at the same time. “Neville, you never needed me.” It was the other way around.

“I’d like to think we needed each other.”

That, Draco could get behind. He pulled Neville into a tight hug.

“Thank you. I—I don’t think I can accept it just yet—” He bit his lip as he realized that he might just one day need to accept the offer. While he didn’t think his father would harm him, much, it could get worse over time—especially when his path was made clear.

“It’s not a one-time thing,” Neville whispered as he held onto Draco just as tight. “You are always welcome, Draco, _always_.”

Draco wasn’t sure what his life would’ve been like without Neville. Wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to cope with everything else without him.

“I love you,” Draco whispered, uncaring how vulnerable the admittance was. “You are my best friend, and I don’t—” He cut off, eyes closing as he wondered how he could have gotten lucky enough to have Neville.

“I love you, too, you dramatic dork.”

“And the moment is ruined.” Draco pushed Neville away, unable to completely get rid of his watery smile.

Neville grinned widely as he extended his bent arm and allowed Draco to loop his own. “Come on, let’s go find some trouble to get into while we wait for your champion to get back.”

“He’s not my champion,” Draco mumbled, but he didn’t refute the plan.

“Not yet, but he could be. You just got to not sneer at him, and probably compliment him at some point, too.”

“Have you met me, Neville? I don’t know how to do either of those things.”

The sound of Neville’s happy laughter was enough to turn Draco’s sombre mood into something softer.

“It’s a good thing he likes you as you are, then.” Neville waggled his brows, and for the millionth time in his life, Draco was eternally grateful to have Neville at all.

“Maybe,” said Draco, but more importantly, he liked himself as he was, too.

 

* * *

 

 

“Been busy, have you?” Draco asked as he was assigned to work with Granger during Arithmancy.

Granger arched a brow as she pulled out her homework. “How so?”

“According to the papers, you’ve got Potter, Krum _and_ Weasley wrapped around your fingers.”

Granger glared darkly, and Draco couldn’t help but snort loudly.

“If you are believing anything that the—” When she looked up and could see that he wasn’t serious, she huffed.

“Why do you do that?”

“It’s fun.”

“More annoying than anything,” Granger argued as Professor Vector put up their assignment.

“I like to think I own it.”

“I like to think you’re full of yourself.”

“Perhaps,” Draco conceded, smirk showing his enjoyment of the whole thing. Baiting Granger was different than baiting Potter or even Weasley—her level of done was always worth it to push.

As Draco began to work on his half of the problem, he stopped paying attention to Granger, which was a mistake.

“You know, Harry talks about you.”

Draco’s grip on his wand slipped and he singed the edge of Finnigan’s desk, not that anyone would look twice, it _was_ Finnigan after all.

When Draco glared and his entire being seethed, he noticed how amused Granger was.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” she remarked a bit hesitantly. “But it changes nothing.”

“What—” Draco cleared his throat. “What does he say?” He winced when she sent him a triumphant look.

“Why should I tell you?”

“What is it you want?” Draco narrowed his eyes as he debated whether to play into her obviously demented ways.

“I want you to not hurt him.”

It was whispered so softly, and Draco swallowed audibly.

“That’s all I want, Malfoy. He didn’t have a good upbringing, something I think you can relate to. Harry, he’s reckless and goes into things without thinking it through, but he’s determined to see the best in you.”

She paused to stare at Draco intently, eyes pleading, for what—he wasn’t sure.

“Don’t let him down. _Please_. And don’t hurt him. I can’t help his living situation, I can’t protect him from the media, I can’t save him from his own reputation, I can’t even do anything to save his heart from heartbreak,” Granger sighed before continuing.

“But I can appeal to his heart. I can try and ease the pain, and I can be there for him through all of it.”

“Are you implying that _I_ am his heart?” When she said nothing and only continued to stare, Draco shook his head.

“We went to a ball together, Granger. One. It was great, but it wasn’t life changing. Nothing we have done could have made me his heart.”

“Lie to yourself, and even to your friends, but don’t lie to me,” Granger lifted her nose in the air haughtily and Draco had to restrain the urge to hex her.

“If you aren’t his heart now, then you will be,” she continued, uncaring of his glare. “I’m just asking you to not hurt him.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Draco answered honestly. He looked away when she frowned.

“Potter… he’s something I never planned for. My life has been crumbling for a while, and then Potter came in with his subtle jabs and our lakeside conversations as if he belonged there. I’ve never known what I wanted when it came to him, never really thought about it until it was right in my face.”

Draco clenched his quill tightly as he tried to pretend he was still working.

“And then the possibilities were there. I see him now, and part of me hates it.” He closed his eyes, as he hated being so open to someone he wasn’t sure he could trust. But she was Potter’s friend, and that mattered.

“You must know that he doesn’t fit into the vision of my future. Well—” He corrected when Granger opened her mouth angrily. “The vision my father sees. Potter is this beacon, he’s bright and alluring. We all need light at some point. But my father doesn’t see it that way, he’s in the business of destroying other people’s light, you see.”

The analogy was awful, but it was the best he could do as saying the actual words wouldn’t be wise.

“It’s one thing for my father to take my own light, but it’s an entirely different thing for him to quash Potter’s.”

The anger melted in Granger’s eyes and concern took over—something Draco wasn’t interested in.

“You want to protect him, I get that, I do. I want the same thing, and that might mean he’s the safest away from me. Heartbreak is nothing as long as you are alive.”

“Malfoy…” Granger trailed off, face shuttered in a sadness Draco didn’t want to see.

“It’s nothing, Granger.” His voice was harsher than intended, but it served its purpose as they went back to their assignment and nothing was said again for the rest of the lesson.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco was walking past the shops in Hogsmeade, not really paying attention to his surroundings. Neville had detention with Snape, and that left either waiting around pathetically for him or to go to Hogsmeade alone.

As the bitter sting of the air hit his cheeks, Draco rather wished he had stayed inside.

When the road ended, he looked around curiously, he had never gone too deep into the village before.

A small apothecary that had seen better days was on the outskirts, and it drew his attention. The old sign with most of its letters peeled off gave the place character. He didn’t expect it to be the best shop out there, but it would at least be a warm place to stay.

It wasn’t until he reached the building did he realize he was being watched.

Draco noticed familiar green eyes and that had him relaxing, at least until he was shoved up against the wall.

“Potter—”

“Who says you get to decide what’s best for me?”

Draco closed his eyes as he slumped forward.

“I see you’ve talked to Granger.”

“You could have talked to me, you know.”

“I was going to.” When Potter arched his brows, Draco hastily continued. “Eventually.”

Potter searched Draco’s eyes, anger making them harsh.

“Malfoy—”

“It’s just—”

They stared at each other, unsure who was to speak.

“I’m not a sure thing,” Draco spoke up when Potter stayed quiet. “I have no idea what I’m doing, I should be spending my time having fun and just living. But I’m so worried about my future and my father that I feel as if I’ve skipped my entire childhood.”

Potter lowered his hands from Draco’s shoulders but didn’t step back.

“There’s still so much that’s undecided, and I can’t ask you to wait for me to figure it out.”

“Who said you would be the one asking?”

Draco tilted his head to the side, confused as to what Potter was talking about.

“You think you’re the only one who has no clue what’s in store in life? I’m in a tournament against my will because someone wants me _dead_.”

The blunt truth stilled Draco.

“I don’t know my own life either, I don’t know anything.”

“Then why—” Draco shook his head. Why was Potter mad if he felt the same?

“I want to wait, Malfoy. I want to think that outside of the uncertainty, that you’ll be there.”

“You can’t ask that of me.”

Potter looked to the ground. “I know, and I’m not saying I will. I just—” He bit his lip before looking up at Draco, eyes hesitant.

“I like you,” Potter whispered, voice quiet but the sincerity had Draco’s heart skipping a beat.

Before Draco could decide to parrot the sentiment, Potter shook his head.

“I want to think that I can figure things out and have you in the sidelines, but that’s not fair to either of us. It doesn’t stop the want.”

“I don’t want to wait,” Draco blurted without thinking. “I wish I didn’t have to wait. That I could have puppy love, or my first heartbreak, or my first relationship. But Merlin knows I’m not ready. Emotionally or realistically. I’m 14 and scared of the future. It’s not the life I would’ve chosen for myself, but it’s the one I have.”

One of Potter’s best qualities was that he understood, even when it was out of his comfort zone, he still _understood_.

“It’s not fair.” Potter sighed as he clenched a fist. “Why can’t we just be kids?”

“We summoned the short thread.”

Potter’s brows burrowed before he laughed, somewhat wetly. “Is that like drawing the shorter stick?”

“Why would we—” Draco shook his head, it was best left unsaid. It was no doubt something muggle.

“Fate hates us,” Draco offered instead. “Maybe it’s destiny or even karma.”

“Well fuck them.”

Draco’s lips twitched, the action drawing Potter’s attention.

“Malfoy, can I kiss you?”

His breath left him suddenly and Draco’s mouth parted in surprise.

“But what about what we just talked about?”

Potter smiled sadly. “I haven’t forgotten. I just want this one thing. I don’t know when I’ll ever get to just experience things like other people. I don’t know when I’ll be comfortable or ready for someone else. And I know in a perfect world, we would wait for each other.” Potter looked away, eyes blinking rapidly.

“But the situation is far from perfect. I just want something. Proof of what we have to give up, proof that it matters, that maybe if we can figure out everything else, that we can have this. I don’t know—”

“Kiss me,” said Draco.

Silence settled briefly before Potter stepped closer and cupped Draco’s cheeks.

Draco couldn’t help but nudge the hands, eyes closing in anticipation.

As far as first kisses went, Draco had nothing to compare it to, but when Potter’s lips touched his own, he might have gasped, or maybe it was a sigh—possibly all in his head.

Warmth. When all he had known in life was bitter cold, the contrast stood out to him. Potter was a warmth Draco had never had, nor was he sure he could keep. But as their lips moved, Draco knew he would remember it, would always remember how it felt to have Potter in such a way—however brief it was.

Draco’s eyes opened when they separated. Seeing Potter so close only had him shaking his head.

“No, I’m going to need more.” He pulled Potter back to him. Restrictions had never been something Draco could listen well to, not when part of him always ached to fight back. Limiting it to one kiss would never do. Not after knowing what kissing Potter felt like.

Their second kiss was more smiles than anything, but Draco didn’t care, it was the little things that made the difference.

“I thought it was just one kiss,” Potter mumbled against Draco’s lips.

“So did I.”

Draco had to force himself to push Potter away when all he wanted to do was hold on and pretend it was all alright—that they could continue on.

They stared at each other, and Draco hoped Potter could understand the words that he wasn’t voicing. So much should be said, so much needed to be brought up, but as always, Potter _understood_.

Potter raised a hand to cup Draco’s cheek.

“I’ll see you around, Malfoy.”

“Goodbye, Harry.”

Draco could tell that Potter’s steps had stilled, but he forced himself to enter the apothecary without a backward glance.

As he browsed the shelves, eyes unseeing and a heavy heart, Draco wondered why he felt like he was losing something he had never had.

Could a heart break if the emotions were stunted to begin with?

 

* * *

 

 

The gloom of the weather should have been welcomed, Draco always did love overcast days, but something wasn’t right—something didn’t sit well with him when it came to the morning of the third task.

He glanced to the Gryffindor table as he wondered how Potter was feeling. Would he be relieved that it was almost over? Nervous that whoever entered his name would make an appearance? Or was he finally enjoying the tasks?

Potter stared morosely at the food before him, and Draco got the impression that he wasn’t really aware of his surroundings.

Draco closed his eyes and silently prayed that fate would cease fucking with Potter, even for just a day.

Maybe he was overthinking things. Everything would be alright. It was the last task anyway, everything was fine—great even.

Potter would be safe. He had to be.

 

* * *

 

 

Chaos ensued when Potter returned with the Triwizard cup in one hand and the other clutching a dead body—Diggory’s dead body.

“Diggory is dead!” several people screamed, some stood up to run closer while others tried to leave. Rushed feet and loud noises could be heard but Draco’s attention was centered on Potter.

Something had happened, something bad—something traumatizing. Without the facts or the knowledge, Draco had nothing to go off of, nothing to shed light on. But he had a feeling it wasn’t a byproduct of the tournament.

Sure, people had died in the past tournaments, but Diggory’s body looked fine. There were normal marks of a contestant; scratches and cuts, but otherwise the body was preserved.

That meant only one thing.

Before Draco could decide whether the urge to run was for Potter or away from him, Dumbledore obstructed his view by standing in front of Potter.

“Diggory’s dead.”

He wished they’d stop saying that. The screams receded, and heavy crying took over as the reality of the situation sunk in.

As the teachers and prefects began ushering students away, Draco looked to the spot Potter had been at.

“Diggory’s dead.”

Draco wasn’t sure if that was someone else or if his mind repeated the words over and over again.

 

* * *

 

Draco ran past several students as he made his way towards Dumbledore’s office. It was the only logical place Potter could be at. With Severus nowhere in sight, the prefects were embarrassingly easy to escape from.

When he paused in front of the gargoyle, he would like to have said it was because he had no way of getting in—which was true—but mainly, it was because there was a dog sitting at the entrance, growling lowly.

The dog’s fur was matted in some spots, he was underfed, exhausted and looked like it was on its last leg.

Draco ignored the growling as he held out his hands, hoping that the dog would smell him before deciding to attack or not.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

The growling didn’t cease, but it got quieter as Draco approached. He didn’t pet the dog, no matter how tempting it was. He kept his hands where the animal could see them as he knelt on the floor.

“You’re quite a handsome dog.”

The lull in the growling would have been comical if it was anything other than a coincidence.

“You are kind of matted though. I wonder if you’ll let me fix that.” He kept talking, hoping to soothe the dog as he kept his voice quiet and calm.

Draco slowly pulled out his wand, aware of how the hairs on the dog’s neck and back rose. He wondered if the poor thing had been abused by a previous owner.

When no growling commenced, Draco unmatted the knots of fur with magic and placed cleaning charms on the dog as well.

“There you are.” Draco smiled as the dog shook his fur. “I told you that you were handsome.”

The dog looked to Draco before slowly inching forward to sniff his hands.

“I never had a pet before,” said Draco as he continued to kneel but settled more on the back of his legs. “My father’s a prick, you see.”

A noise left the dog, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

“There was a bunny once,” Draco recalled as he tentatively began petting the dog’s head. “It wasn’t a magical animal, but I found it on the border of the Manor’s perimeter. I wanted to keep her, she was a little thing, barely as big as your head.”

The dog nuzzled Draco’s hand and he couldn’t help but smile.

“My father said no. Not a surprise, really, but I kept pushing. I knew better, knew exactly what happens when he loses his temper.”

The dog stilled, and it allowed Draco’s hand to reach further.

“The bunny didn’t survive.”

Draco blinked rapidly, unsure of why he was speaking to the animal at all. It wasn’t like the dog could talk back. Was he really that desperate for a conversation?

“I never asked for a pet again,” Draco concluded. “Horrible walk down memory lane. Depressing, actually, but it seemed to fit the mood.”

When the dog whined, Draco thought perhaps he was too rough with the pressure of his fingers.

“Sorry,” he apologized and made an effort to touch lighter.

“I’m worried,” Draco admitted, unable to stop talking. “Worried about Potter, worried about Diggory’s parents, worried about what happened, and worried about going back home.”

Draco smiled when the dog licked his hand once.

“I’m also worried about my mental health. I’m talking to a dog about my troubles.” He let out a hysterical laugh at the whole situation. “But it’s not like you can tell anyone. Maybe that makes you the perfect secret keeper.”

He sighed before looking to the gargoyle.

“I hope Potter is okay.” He bit his lip as he debated about whether to admit what he was worried about the most.

“Does it make me a bad person to be grateful that it wasn’t Potter that died?” The dog laid down and placed his head on Draco’s knee.

“If it had been reversed and Diggory came back alive, but Potter was dead—” Draco’s voice cracked, unable to continue the thought.

“It’s cruel to be happy that Potter is alive, right? Diggory’s death isn’t something to be grateful for. Thinking like this isn’t normal, I shouldn’t be so relieved.”

Draco took his hand off the dog to clench it in his robes.

“I don’t know what would happen if he died,” Draco admitted reluctantly. “Even when I was questioning everything, his presence was just a given. Potter was always this unobtainable light. A figurehead of stupid morality and horrible hair.”

He paused when the dog huffed against his leg. Even if he was losing his sanity by carrying out a conversation with a dog, at least it was entertaining.

“But his position was so fixed. Everyone knows Potter is good. Everyone knows his situation and that he’s against everything that people like my father stand for. Having him as the moral option and having my father’s example of what I don’t want, it was helpful—it was a guide of sorts. But I never stopped to think of what could’ve happened if that guide was gone.”

Draco closed his eyes but opened them immediately when all he could see was Diggory’s dead body.

“If you take away the good, then what’s to happen when you oppose the bad?”

The silence of the corridor was Draco’s own answer.

“Regulus would be disappointed in me.”

The dog’s head snapped up so suddenly that Draco jumped slightly and turned his head, expecting to see someone in the hall.

When he looked back at the dog, brows furrowed, he jumped again at the way the dog’s fur was raised.

“Easy. Whatever spooked you isn’t there. It’s just us.”

The dog didn’t calm down, but that wasn’t a surprise, Draco didn’t hold faith in his calming abilities—that was Neville’s area of expertise.

Draco ignored the way the dog didn’t settle back down and pretended it wasn’t strange.

“I shouldn’t care whether Potter remains fixed in his position. My ability to be good isn’t dependent on someone else. And I should do it for me.”

He smiled as he thought to all of Regulus’ letters and the repeated emphasis on being who he wanted to be.

“That’s something he taught me, Regulus, I mean. To be who I want and let it be enough. That if I want to change, to do it for myself and not for my father.”

Draco sighed as the simplicity of the words didn’t mesh with the complex reality.

“I suppose I lost sight of that for a while. But I’ve been changing myself for so long, trying so hard to be someone else. Someone that I could be proud of, and I don’t think I’m there yet, but I’m still trying, and that’s enough, right?”

The silence spurred Draco along, it was more comforting than before.

“I’ll reach who I want to be someday, and that’s not something that has to run parallel to Potter. Whether he’s around to be the light figure or not won’t affect my decisions. I’m going to be the best person I can, and I’m going to do it for _me_.”  

When the dog laid back down, head on Draco’s knee, he pretended that it was in support of his words.

Draco fell silent as the words left him. Talking to the dog had been therapeutic in a way. He was no longer afraid of the silence in his mind, and perhaps it was for the best to stop talking to animals that couldn’t talk back.

The sound of footsteps caused both Draco and the dog to tense up. Draco stood up as Dumbledore and Potter rounded the corner. He was confused as to where they could have been, but that didn’t matter, not when he could see how exhausted Potter was.

The cuts, blood and pain radiating off of Potter was hard to look at.

“Malfoy.”

Draco wasn’t sure if his presence would’ve been appreciated, but that flew from his mind as Potter ran forward and pulled him into a hug.

“Potter,” Draco breathed into Potter’s neck. “I was so worried about you.”

“I’m f—” Potter paused before changing the direction of his statement. “I’m not okay.”

Draco held on tighter, unsure of what to say to make any of it alright.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, but Draco refused to let go of Potter as he turned his head to the side.

“I’ll give you both a few minutes.”

Blue eyes regarded Draco closely, but he had never been able to read Dumbledore very well.

He waited until Dumbledore was gone before he looked back to Potter.

“I’m not going to pester you,” Draco promised. He wanted to know what happened, but he would be alright without the answers right away. Potter’s mental health was more important than his curiosity.

“Voldemort’s back.”

Draco’s eyes closed, and a whimper escaped. He had figured that would happen—prepared for it since Regulus’ second letter. The time to choose a path was approaching, and Draco already knew which one he would take—he just wished it was easier.

“Your father…” Potter trailed off, voice hesitant.

“My father is probably already in servitude again.”

Potter’s silence had Draco sighing heavily.

“I’m not even surprised.”

“He was—um—he was there.”

Draco wasn’t sure where ‘there’ was, but Potter’s face was twisted in pain and that had him opening his mouth to apologize.

“Don’t,” Potter pleaded, a hand moved to cover his mouth. “Don’t say sorry. You aren’t responsible for his actions.”

“Feels like I should be sometimes.”

Potter removed his hand as he moved closer, their foreheads touching.

“I fought Voldemort.” The sudden change in conversation was welcome but terrifying.

“You always were stupidly reckless.”

“Yeah,” Potter agreed, voice flat in agreement. “But it worked, for the most part.”

“I wish you were different,” Draco began, eyes unable to stop staring at Potter. “That you didn’t have to face what you do.”

The sad smile Potter sent him had his heart breaking, it was so _resigned._

A bark had Potter jumping in surprise.

“Si—Snuffles!”

Draco watched Potter kneel down and throw his arms around the dog’s neck.

“Is this your dog?”

“You could say that.”

“He’s a good listener.”

Potter turned back to Draco, eyes blinking rapidly and amusement briefly taking over the grief on his face.

“Is that so?”

Draco shrugged once, unsure of why he felt like he was missing an inside joke.

“He’s well behaved,” Draco continued, suddenly uncomfortable. “Handsome dog, too.”

Potter laughed. “Don’t say that. He’s so full of himself already.”

Before Draco could tell Potter that he was being weird, Potter stood up and looked towards Dumbledore’s office.

“If I go in there, it’s all real.”

The dichotomy struck Draco more so than anything else. “But if you stay out here, you’ll get complacent in denial.”

“I hate when you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

Potter’s expression didn’t waver, but he did reach out a hand and hold squeeze Draco’s.

“Just don’t lose sight of what you want.”

“None of this is what I wanted.”

“I know that.” Draco rolled his eyes as he stepped closer to Potter. “The circumstance is out of your hands, but that doesn’t mean what you do from here is no longer your decision.”

“What you are saying?”

“I’m saying that whatever you do from now on, make sure it’s at your pace, and at your whim. Dumbledore is—” Draco grimaced as he tried to refrain from being judgmental. “He’s pretty rigid in his beliefs, probably a side effect of being old.”

Potter snorted but seemed interested in what he was saying, so Draco continued.

“Don’t let him make your decisions for you. You have a right to do whatever you want. You could turn away and never walk in there. We both know you won’t, but you could, and that choice matters.”

“Thank you,” Potter whispered as he cupped Draco’s cheek. “I tend to forget that I have a choice. Even when I’m forced into this, I still have a choice in how I go about it.”

Draco nodded, pleased that Potter understood what he meant.

“I think you should take your own advice.”

Draco huffed, pleasure replaced by annoyance. He rolled his eyes, hoping that was enough to convey his emotions. By the way Potter grinned, he didn’t think it went over well.

“I have a few more days of denial ahead of me,” whispered Draco as he held Potter’s hand to his cheek, unwilling to let the comfort leave.

“I wish you didn’t have to go back there.” Potter’s voice was just as quiet.

“We both have been pushed in directions we don’t want,” said Draco with a shrug.

“Just be careful,” Potter stressed.

“I always am.”

When Potter’s other hand rose to cup his other cheek, Draco knew where it would lead. It was a bad idea, he knew that, but couldn’t help but nod in agreement to the silent question in Potter’s eyes.

The wait in between breaths was too much for Draco, he moved closer, head tilting and pressed his lips against Potter’s.

It hadn’t been long since their last kiss, but it was new in a sense that they were new, not new people, but new in the knowledge of what they had to do. Draco felt grounded as the kiss deepened and his emotions exploded.

Kissing Potter was something he wouldn’t give up, couldn’t give up.

At least until a bark separated them.

Potter glared down at Snuffles—horrible name, Draco felt bad for the poor dog.

“You should go,” Draco whispered, eyes on Potter’s lips.

“I should, but I don’t want to.”

Potter pecked Draco once, as if that would be enough—it would never be enough, but he restrained from asking for more.

“I can leave,” Draco offered, knowing that sometimes it was easier if someone forced your hand.

Potter nodded as he took a step back and straightened up.

As Draco walked by, he stopped to kiss Potter’s cheek. “Goodbye, Potter.” He made sure to pet Snuffles one last time too.

“Bye, Draco.”

It was hard to not turn around, but Draco knew that if he did, he would hide his worries in more touches of Potter, and that wouldn’t help anything in the end.

So, Draco kept walking, kept his head high and his heart erratic as he walked away.


	6. Draco Malfoy and the Path of Opposition (Year Five)

With the Wizarding world distracted by Potter’s declaration that the Dark Lord had returned, Draco was able to slink by his father unnoticed most days. His father was as distracted as the rest of the world, but he knew that it was the obligations to the Dark Lord that kept him busy.

The complete disrespect _The Prophet_ went in means of discrediting Potter disgusted Draco. Anyone who had been there when Potter returned with Diggory would have to see the truth in Potter’s words. Not to mention it was _Potter,_ of all people. Where was the belief in the boy who they placed on a pedestal all those years ago?

What had surprised him was his father’s reaction to the papers. It was as if he was pleased. Draco couldn’t help but wonder why that might be. Wouldn’t the Dark Lord be upset that the world wasn’t taking the possibility of his return seriously?

Unless that’s what he wanted?

The mystery of it all drove Draco mental trying to figure it out.

“Master Draco.”

Draco jerked in his chair as he looked towards the door. Normally, house elves were required to announce themselves before speaking, but Alpsi was barely standing as a hand clutched his ribs.

“Are you alright?”

The glare Alpsi gave him had Draco biting his tongue. It wouldn’t be smart to show the house elves a kindness that they didn’t want.

“Master Malfoy requests your presence.”

Draco closed his eyes as he tried to mentally prepare himself. Whatever his father wanted, it wouldn’t be good. Never was.

“I’ll be right down.” He hesitated as Alpsi tried to turn around but couldn’t manage it without flinching.

“Would you like some help?” Draco asked, knowing by the way Alpsi straightened up that he had made a mistake. Helping a house elf was a grave insult. “It’s just that—I could heal you, that way you wouldn’t be in pain.”

“Alpsi was punished, Master Draco. To erase the punishment would erase the lesson in the action.”

Draco clenched his fists tightly. That wasn’t right. It was a load of hogwash.

“But—”

“Alpsi must be going, Master Draco. Chores to be done.” Alpsi’s tone was harsh, but Draco wasn’t offended. It was hard to not treat all house elves as if they were Dobby. He watched Alpsi disapparate away with a heavy heart.

When Draco walked into his father’s study, he tried not to flinch at the sneer that was already in place.

“Anything you would like to tell me?”

Loaded question. Draco would like to tell his father how awful, vain and conceited he was, but that wasn’t what he meant.

“My grades have improved,” Draco prompted, not sure what his father wanted from him. He _had_ improved, however hard it was to maintain his already high scores.

His father’s eyes narrowed, and Draco felt as if he was missing something.

“Tell me,” his father began, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “How long have you been dating Potter?”

“Dating?” Draco was proud of the way his face showed a disgust he didn’t feel. “I wouldn’t date Potter.”

An arched brow wasn’t a good sign. Draco forced himself to remain calm as his father sat up straighter. “Your actions would suggest the opposite.”

“It was one dance,” Draco argued, knowing full well that his father wouldn’t like the interruption. “The Longbottom plan was going well, and I figured why not broaden that.”

The silence that followed wasn’t surprising, Draco came to expect the tactics his father would go to when it came to theatrics.

“Is that something you think you can do?”

Draco shook his head. He could suggest the same lie he had told his father when it came to Neville, could pretend that he would get close to Potter, but he couldn’t do it. Draco wouldn’t taint anything he had with Potter by pretending it was a lie.

“Potter has friends, he doesn’t need one in me. It was a fluke.”

Angry silver eyes that Draco detested as much as his own narrowed. “Then what use are you?”

Draco looked to the ground as he fought the urge to shake his head. Of course. His use only mattered when he could provide something for his father.

The longer Draco stayed silent, the worse his anxiety got. Speaking would only anger his father, but not to do so would also raise the ire. It was a no-win situation—it always was.

“What are your thoughts on Potter?”

Draco was thankful he wasn’t looking at his father, because his eyes widened, and he felt his palms grow sweaty.

“My thoughts?”

“I didn’t stutter, Draco. Yes, what are your thoughts on the boy? Especially considering his recent publicity stunt.”

“I think he was telling the truth,” Draco whispered, eyes still on the ground. He wasn’t sure what kind of answer his father was expecting. “Diggory’s death was no accident.”

When his father said nothing, the temptation to look was too high to ignore. The narrowed eyes weren’t suspicious, but they were guarded.

“You don’t know?”

Draco’s brows furrowed, but he said nothing—not sure his father truly wanted an answer. Had something else happened? Something besides the events at the Triwizard Tournament?

“Hmm.” A small, pleased smirk had Draco apprehensive. “Potter was expelled for using magic outside of Hogwarts.”

Draco’s head snapped up, eyebrows arched. The triumphant gleam to his father’s eyes was ignored as his mind began to race.

Expelled? Potter wasn’t a show off, if he used his magic, then it would have been needed. Something happened, something _bad_.

“Of course Potter does nothing if not fight, and a hearing has been announced. I’ve got it on good authority that Fudge will oversee it.”

Fudge? Why would Fudge oversee a hearing regarding underage magic? Considering the stance the Ministry was taking on Potter, it would seem like a conflict of interest. Why not leave it up to the department head? What was Fudge’s goal?

“Do you think he’ll win?” Draco asked without thinking it through.

“Absolutely.” His father leaned forward, hair falling forward as he ran a finger down his chin. “Dumbledore isn’t going to let Potter become expelled. Not a chance.”

Then why did he care? Draco didn’t understand the point of the discussion. If Potter wasn’t going to remain expelled, then what was the point?

“As unexpected as it all is, it helps us in the long run.”

_Us_. Draco wanted to scoff. When had anything his father ever done been inclusive? When had there ever been an ‘us’?

“Potter’s fame seems to hold a backlash. If his credibility is gone, then my plans will proceed accordingly.”

Plans? He didn’t like the sound of that, nor did he want to be a part of it either.

“A time will come soon when you, too, will be involved.”

Against Draco’s better judgment, he whispered, “Involved?”

A cruel smirk had Draco closing his eyes.

“My status is regarded highly with the Dark Lord. I have use, Draco. Something that you will gain, too, one day.”

Draco didn’t want to be of use—not like that. Never like that.

“When the time comes, you will join me, and that status will increase.”

He said nothing, couldn’t speak with the bile threatening to come out.

“For now, I need you on the sidelines. Any and all observations you make will be appreciated.”

Draco knew an order when it was said.

“Let’s talk about your grades.”

He looked towards the window as he tuned out his father’s complaints. Draco had thought last year had been bad, but he got the feeling things were about to get worse.

A lot worse.

 

* * *

 

 

A familiar bark had Draco turning around to see Snuffles and Potter walking towards the train.

“Hey, you,” Draco said as he bent over to pet Snuffles. “You look a lot better. Still so handsome.”

When Draco looked up, the soft look on Potter’s face took his breath away. Before he could say something, Snuffles licked his cheek.

“Gross. I will have you know that I’ll have to wash my face now.”

Another lick had Potter laughing loudly as Snuffles wagged his tail.

“I hear your owner almost got expelled,” Draco faux whispered as Potter rolled his eyes. “He’s pretty reckless though, so I can understand that these kinds of things happen.”

“You can just ask me if I’m okay, you know.”

Draco ignored the smirk Potter sent him. “Are you though?”       

“I’m fine, Malfoy.”

He looked at Potter closely, trying to see the if the sincerity in his voice was also in his eyes.

“I don’t think you are,” Draco whispered as he took a small step forward, aware that some people were watching them closely.

“Why is it you see what others don’t?”

“No one is looking as closely as I am,” Draco admitted reluctantly.

Potter appeared to be fighting a smile, and he wished that the knowledge didn't affect him.

“Want to tell my why that is?”

“No.”

Before Potter could respond, a group of people rushed towards them. The Weasley family, Lupin, Moody, and an old woman he didn’t recognize.

“There you are Harry,” Weasley said, relief evident in his tone. He shook his head when he caught sight of Draco. “Should have suspected you’d be with him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco questioned as Potter glared at Weasley.

“It means that Harry—”

“It means nothing,” Harry interrupted Weasley, voice stern.

Draco looked between them suspiciously. He didn’t like being the only one to not know.

“Draco.”

He looked to Lupin and nodded respectfully. “Mister Lupin.”

Snuffles let out an odd noise as Lupin shook his head rapidly. “Lupin is fine. Mister Lupin doesn’t quite fit me.”

“How are you?” Draco asked politely as he wondered what it would take to get out of the conversation. Being nice was exhausting—especially when it came to people he wasn’t friends with.

“I’m alright, and you? How are things at home?”

The question had Draco’s shoulders tensing. The tone was just a bit _too_ serious. He knew that Lupin meant well, but the one question had every adult looking at him in alarm. It wasn’t Lupin’s place to worry, and it certainly wasn’t his place to care.

“On that note,” Draco began, as he looked to Potter one last time. “I’ll be leaving.”

“Draco—wait,” Lupin called after him. “I didn’t mean—”

“Goodbye, Mister Lupin.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Draco entered the compartment Neville always chose, he paused at the entrance, unsure of how to proceed.

Neville’s eyes were wide and panicked as a girl that Draco had seen a few times in the past stared at him intently.

“Strange. I’d expect Wrackspurts, but you’ve got none. Not even the beginnings of some. You are quite impressive, Neville.”

“Thank you?” Neville scooted away slowly, and Draco couldn’t help but snort.

The glare Neville sent disappeared when he realized who it was, and his eyes quickly melted into a relief that Draco hadn’t ever seen on him before.

“Draco, about time you got here.” Neville’s eyes were doing an odd wide and then recede motion that Draco assumed was supposed to mean something—but it wasn’t as if he was knowledgeable on silent cues of the desperate.

He sat down next to Neville before looking to the girl. She was rather curious. Her long hair was free to her waist, wand tangled in her hair as he assumed she tried to place it behind her ear, a necklace made of butterbeer caps and she was reading a magazine upside down.

When Draco leaned forward slightly, he realized she was reading the _Quibbler_ and everything clicked into place.

“You’re Luna Lovegood.”

There wasn’t much he knew about Lovegood. His father only had negative things to say about her father, but that was to be expected. Draco always did enjoy the _Quibbler_ though, it was a chance to forget his real issues as he read the wild articles that were published.

Lovegood smiled before she nodded her head rapidly. “And you are Draco Malfoy. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All negative, I presume?”

“Oh no,” Lovegood argued as her eyes lost the shine to them. “The Wrackspurts like you. As well as the Nargles, but you can’t always trust a Nargle.” She leaned forward before searching the compartment for others as she whispered, “They can be devious at times.”

“Devious?” He questioned as he ignored Neville’s confused glance. He knew Neville was probably wondering why he was going along with her at all, but Draco was intrigued by Lovegood.

“They switch between being good and bad. Rather hard to keep up with at times. They lurk in areas that are tempting. My father says they are meant to be deciding factors.”

Draco tilted his head to the side as he wondered if there was a deeper meaning to what she was saying. On the surface, it seemed like nonsense, but the words itself weren’t mad, they were thought out. He wasn’t sure about Lovegood, but he wanted to know more.

While Draco mused silently, he could tell that Neville was getting antsy with the silence. When Lovegood resumed staring, Neville began rambling.

“How was your summer? Mine was alright. My Gran got ill and left me to myself mostly. It was rather nice. I did a lot of research for my own greenhouse. Did I tell you about that? How I want to have my own?”

“Yes, you told me,” Draco pointed out fondly, not mentioning the dozens of times they had the same exact conversation.

“I want it to be inclusive. You would think that Herbology wouldn’t have social constructs, but the exclusionary methods some people go to astound me.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me.”

Lovegood’s eyes went back and forth between them, and Draco wasn’t sure what to make of that. She seemed keenly aware of things, but her airy attitude pulled away from that.

“Some Herbologists refuse to take in plants from certain countries, and only because of origin and not because of death factor.”

_Death factor_. Draco made a mental note to not step foot in any greenhouse of Neville’s.

“When I have my own, all plants will be welcome. I’ll invite those stuffy Herbologists and watch gleefully as they try and snub my plants.”

“That’s rather Slytherin of you,” Lovegood interrupted.

“Thank you?” Neville looked to Draco, with his face full of questions and his hands moving in uncertainty.

Draco’s lips twitched when Lovegood stared at Neville before she sighed heavily. He wasn’t sure what about Neville she was sighing for, but he was entertained.

“What will you do when they snub them?” Lovegood asked intently, as if the question was of vital importance.

Neville hesitated. “I guess feed them to my Devil’s Snare.”

Draco laughed, knowing full well that Neville would do no such thing.

When Lovegood blinked rapidly, he wondered if the joke had fallen flat for her.

“And not a single Wrackspurt,” she said more to herself than them. “So strange. No Nargles in sight either.”

“I was taking the piss,” Neville said, tone wary.

“Oh.” Lovegood peered at Neville before frowning. “That explains it then.”

Before Draco could figure out what to say, Lovegood stood up and grabbed her bags. “I’ve got other places to be, but it was nice meeting you both.”

“You as well,” Draco said politely when Neville said nothing.

“Don’t let the Nargles influence you too much, Draco.”

It had been a warning for sure, Draco just wasn’t sure what exactly she was trying to hint at.

What exactly was a Nargle? And how would it influence him?

“If you ever leave me alone with her again, I will feed you to my plants, and I’m not kidding this time,” Neville warned, eyes serious but mouth twitching.

“Well geez,” Draco began, hand covering his heart. “What Nargle crawled up your arse today?”

“I was kidding!” he cried when Neville started to tickle him. “Can’t take a joke, I see. Maybe you have a Wrackspurt infestation too.”

The compartment was filled with Draco’s yells as he tried to get away from Neville.

Maybe Nargles weren’t so bad after all.

 

* * *

 

 

As Draco listened to the Sorting Hat’s song, a sense of dread welled up. The hat was known for giving warnings, but only in time of need. Was it because of the Dark Lord? It couldn’t be unrelated, that would be too big of a coincidence.

It was clear by many of the students’ faces that they weren’t taking it seriously. Some looked to Potter, while others just frowned. Were they reconsidering their belief of his words? Realizing that Potter’s stance coupled with the Sorting hat made more of a promising statement? Or were they wondering if it was separate? Was it a human thing to never notice what was right there? Or just stupidity?

Before Draco could really delve into the thought deeper, he became distracted by the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher’s speech.

The longer she talked, the more he realized that things weren’t going to end well. He wondered if his father knew about her, it could explain why his father seemed confident.

As Umbridge talked about change and the things she aimed to improve, he couldn’t help but frown. It was clear that she wasn’t entering the year as a teacher, or someone who cared about teaching the next generation—no, she was concerned about the Ministry. Or more importantly, the Ministry’s politics.

It was a load of hogwash, all of it.

When Draco looked around the room and noticed the distracted gazes, dozing faces, and complete disinterest, it reaffirmed his belief that he went to school with morons.

Something was happening, and it wouldn’t be good. Whatever Umbridge’s goal was, it would end horribly.

Draco looked to the Sorting Hat near McGonagall. Unity, that had been the main message of its warning.

Was unity possible?

 

* * *

 

 

It was strange. Draco would have taken theoretical lessons with Moody over practical ones in a heartbeat, but with Umbridge it was the opposite. Her goals weren’t to educate them, but to give them only part of the information, and see who could pass.

Some things couldn’t be learned with only the theory. She had to know that, _right_?

“ _Using_ defensive spells?” Umbridge queried with a false laugh that irked Draco. “I can’t imagine why you would want to use defensive spells in my class. Are you expecting to get attacked?”

The logic was completely lost on Draco, as well as it did for Granger—who leaned away in shock. He wasn’t sure how Umbridge could expect them to only comprehend something without letting them practice.

“We aren’t going to use magic?” Weasley’s incredulous tone had Draco rolling his eyes.

“And you are?”

“Weasley.”

When Umbridge grinned and turned her back on him, Draco began to _understand_. Umbridge was far more dangerous than he had originally assumed.

As Potter and Granger tried to voice their own questions, it was the same disinterested snubs. Umbridge was far from unbiased and was taking the Ministry’s interest too far.

“You have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class,” Umbridge began, smile not matching her words. “Not to mention, extremely dangerous half-breeds.”

Draco’s mouth parted as several people made outraged noises. It was one thing to criticize someone’s teaching methods, scores, or even how they handled children, but to go that low and attack them based on being a Magical Creature?

“Wow,” Draco whispered, loud enough that several people heard him. To think that people that ignorant existed.

As a few students rose to Lupin’s defence, Umbridge switched tactics and went after Moody.

“My predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them _on_ you.”

That was the only rational argument she had. Draco could understand her stance when it came to that criticism. It still baffled him that Dumbledore had _allowed_ that kind of behaviour to happen.

“Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn’t he?” Thomas piped up, anger coming through.

Umbridge ignored him, clearly not able to handle other opinions well.

“Theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examinations. Which is the whole point, is it not? As long as you have studied the theory, there is no reason to think you won’t pass the tests.”

“Are you telling us that the first time using the spells will be during the test?” Parvati asked, eyebrows raised and a baffled expression on her face—something Draco could relate to.

“As long as you have studied the theory—”

“And what’s theory going to do in the real world?” Potter asked, voice louder than necessary, eyes angry and narrowed.

Umbridge regarded Potter for a long time, eyes unblinkingly weird.

“This is school, Mister Potter, not the real world.”

Potter’s hands lifted in the air as his expression showed his disbelief.

“What about what’s out there? How do we prepare for that?”

“There is nothing out there.”

Draco could tell by the way Potter clenched his hands, that that was the wrong thing to say.

“Who do you think would want to harm children?

“Hmm,” Potter began, tone mocking and condescending. “Maybe Lord Voldemort?”

Draco couldn’t withhold the flinch, nor did a few others as several people gasped, and Neville slipped off his stool.

When Umbridge didn’t become upset, and actually looked pleased, Draco realized Potter had been baited. It was the hearing all over again. They were providing Potter the tools to hex himself. It was all rather clever, however devious it may be.

As Umbridge began a lecture on whether the Dark Lord had returned or not, Draco kept his eyes on Potter. Each word she spoke resonated with Potter, negatively.

When Potter argued back, tone angry but the underlying pleading to be believed, Draco wished that he wouldn’t. He knew Potter was right, knew that the truth was there, but Umbridge wasn’t the papers. She wasn’t the _Daily Prophet_ spreading gossip, nor was she students that disagreed with him. Umbridge had the power to back up her words. She was more of a threat than people realized, and Potter was playing right into her hands.

“So according to you, Cedric Diggory died of his own accord?”

The silence that followed wasn’t stifling, but it was uncomfortable. Potter hadn’t gone on record when it came to Diggory’s death other than the original statement, and he knew a lot of people were curious.

Umbridge’s smile fell—something Draco was grateful for, it was a hideous smile.

“His death was a tragic accident,” Umbridge said quietly, tone cold and angry, as if daring Potter to argue. She clearly didn’t know who he was, because Potter loved to argue.

“It was _murder_ ,” Potter whispered, voice barely reaching Draco’s ears. “Voldemort killed him, and you know it.” Potter was shaking, and that alone had Draco wondering why people had a hard time believing him. It was clear that Potter was telling the truth, the proof was in his actions, words and even his gestures.

It came as no surprise when Umbridge kicked Potter out of the classroom. Of course, Potter didn’t go demurely; he kicked a chair over on his way, and his anger was palpable.

The silence that followed the door slamming was far more uncomfortable than expected. Students traded looks as whispers broke out.

“Get back to the chapter,” Umbridge ordered.

When no one said anything and went back to work easily, Draco knew fighting her would be difficult. Especially if only Potter had the courage to speak up.

Unity meant nothing if everyone was willing to let singularity rule inaction.

 

* * *

 

 

As Draco walked towards the greenhouses, he spotted Lovegood approaching Potter. He looked around for Neville and rolled his eyes when Neville dove behind Finnigan when he caught sight of her—honestly, she wasn’t _that_ strange.

“I believe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, and I really believe you fought him and escaped.”

Draco smirked when Potter’s eyes widened, and he awkwardly thanked her.

A few people began to laugh at Lovegood’s appearance. Draco wasn’t sure what they had a problem with, but it was just pettiness.

“You can laugh,” Lovegood misunderstood. “But it’s just like the Blibbering Humdinger and the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. People used to think that that they didn’t exist.”

A fondness Draco wasn’t used to rose up, and he stepped forward as Granger spoke.

“Well, they were right, weren’t they? They _don’t_ exist.”

When Lovegood gave her a withering look, Draco knew he would like her.

“I don’t know about that, Granger,” Draco spoke up as he stopped next to Lovegood.

“Draco.” She beamed. “So good to see you. How are the Nargles?”

Draco grinned, unable to stop himself. “Positively tempting.” He winked at her when her smile grew.

“You aren’t supposed to like them,” Lovegood chided. “Fickle things they are.”

“Rather fits me, I think.”

A noise had Draco looking up. Potter was watching them closely, but his eyes were narrowed.

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

They stared at each other, and Draco wished he knew what Potter’s problem was. There seemed to be a discord since they last talked, and he didn’t like it.

Draco leaned forward and gestured as if he had a secret to tell.

“You know, I believe you, too.”

When his voice carried over the small audience, he could hear a few gasps.

“Is that so?” Potter arched a brow as his lips twitched.

“It’s the Wrackspurts,” Lovegood interrupted wisely. “They give way to intelligence.”

Draco shared an amused look with Potter before he looked to her.

“Well, I always knew I was intelligent.” He ignored the snort Weasley released.

“How about you tell me more about the Humdinger and the Snorkack?” Draco asked as he threw an arm around Lovegood’s shoulder. “I am suddenly in the mood to learn something new.”

They both ignored Granger’s mumbling of, “But they aren’t real,” as they walked by. Draco made sure to grab Neville’s hand. No way was he going to listen to Lovegood without support.

“I hate you,” Neville whispered.

“You’ll thank me one day.”

Draco wasn’t too sure about that, but he could pretend. By the way Neville sighed, he didn’t think it was going over so well.

He had a hunch that Lovegood and Neville would make great friends. All he had to do was convince Neville first.

It couldn’t be that hard, right?

 

* * *

 

 

**Dear Cousin,**

 

_I learned today that Narcissa is having a boy. No names have been decided, so I'm afraid you must still put up with me calling you ‘cousin’._

_It makes it all real, doesn't it? Before, I was just writing to an idea, a placeholder for my thoughts, but you are so much more than that. You are my baby cousin, someone that I wish I could get to know. I could teach you a lot, if given the chance._

_Chances are a lot like wishes—sometimes they are only fitting in dreams, or only the lucky get them._

_I'm not lucky._

_When there's no wishes then the realization of dreams takes on a new meaning. If you aren't a dreamer, and wishes don't come true, and even chances have failed, then what is left? Where is the false sense of hope that I can delude myself into believing? Is there no security? Even in my baseless dreams?_

_Hope without a place to take root is just an empty spot, an empty spot that gets filled with the unwanted. There is already so much to me that is unwanted, and I would give anything for even a moment of reprieve. Just one moment where I can think that maybe everything will be okay, or that I can come out of this unscathed._

_But that's not a delusion I can buy into._

_My outcome was decided when I joined_ _ranks with a monster. My life was forfeit the moment I degraded others and chose to place my own blood status on a pedestal. There is no reprieve for the damned and there is no standstill for the wicked._

_I will face punishment. Either by the hands of those that I have wronged, or by the hands of a higher power that I'm not sure I believe in. The regret that I have is nothing compared to the suffering I have caused, and that alone won't save me._

_I'm not sure I can ever be redeemed by the people who matter. My own thoughts and my own redemption mean nothing when my existence insults the victims._

_I pray by the time you read this, that the world will have changed. Even if it's just a little. I don't want the people who are dying to have done so in vain. I don't want their suffering to have meant nothing. And I don't want history to repeat itself._

_I just hope that my stupidity doesn't spread. That I will be the only foolish one to think that the Dark Lord was a saviour. When in reality he is nothing but an annihilator who seeks destruction shrouded in a grandeur of false progressiveness._

_What he aims to achieve is not what it seems. His goals will not save us. They will not unite the people._

_The Dark Lord will destroy us all without even trying._

_I know I must sound as if a repeating charm has been cast, I keep emphasizing the same points, but I am not sorry for that. Not if I can cast doubt on your mind for even a moment._

_One of the biggest differences between Light and Dark wizards is not the magic in which they practice spells, but it is the credence of morals—the urge to stand up for not only their beliefs but for others as well. I can't remember a time when a Dark wizard stood up for their brethren and not for the status we all cling to._

_Can their agenda withstand if all that is keeping them afloat is fear? Can fear really provide the security that is required to succeed? I don't think so. There is no faith or trust when it comes to the ranks of a Death Eater, but trust is so strong inside Light wizards. They not only trust their neighbour, but they build each other up. Such a sight is foreign to me, and I wish I understood their plight._

_I urge you to take notice of their actions. Build up those who not only need it, but those who are important to you. Even if that is all you take from the other side, then it was well worth it._

_My faith in humanity has disappeared, and I do not think I will ever find it. With these letters, I hope to find a humanity in you, cousin. I think that the next generation is going to be the deciding factor, they will either be our salvation or our damnation._

_And I worry for the outcome._

_I must go, a war with no end in sight keeps me busy. Stay strong, and keep me in your thoughts, for you are always in mine._

 

**Love,**

**Regulus**

 

* * *

 

 

Draco frowned as he folded the latest letter and put it away. In the beginning, he thought that they might have been more informative than anything, but now he wasn't sure what Regulus' intentions were. It honestly appeared as if Regulus just needed someone to talk to.

His heart ached at the thought that his cousin never had someone to turn to. He wasn't sure he could have had the mentality to stay strong without the support of Dobby and Neville. Sure, Neville wasn't aware of the letters, but that didn't erase the comfort that they shared.

Was that what Regulus meant? To build up others? Was mere friendship the answer? Or did it go further than that? Was Draco meant to build up those who looked down on him? That was asking a lot, and he wasn't sure he could do that.

He bit his lip as he thought over the letter one last time. Regulus had said the next generation could be their salvation or damnation.

The pressure was intense, but was it really up to them?

Potter. He was a salvation if there ever were one.

Did that make Draco the damnation? Or was he simply neither? Just someone on the sidelines rooting for the salvation?

In the end, Draco knew that whatever he chose to do, it would never be the sidelines. No, he'd probably be in the middle of it all, and definitely a mess of worries.

But that seemed to be his fate as of late; worried.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco looked around curiously as the majority of his housemates in his year converged on the Quidditch pitch. It didn't make sense considering they didn't have practice until later in the week. It wasn't until a flash of red robes took to the sky that it made sense—the Gryffindors were practicing.

He made his way over, unsure if it would be better to go to the dorms and finish his homework. He honestly didn't feel like socializing, especially if it was in jest of others.

"Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle anyway?" Pansy yelled, hands cupped over her mouth. "Why would anyone want to look like they have worms on the top of their head?"

Johnson ignored her, but Draco was having a hard time doing the same.

"Why?" Draco asked as soon as he was close enough. "You can't pick on her blood status, so you attack her appearance? And not just shallow reasons, your words are bordering on racism. I thought only Muggles did that." Not entirely true, he knew racism existed everywhere, it just wasn't something he saw often, not when most went after blood status.

Pansy's mouth parted before she crossed her arms. "What's wrong with you? You never used to have a problem like this. In case you have forgotten, you used to be the same."

Draco closed his eyes. He didn't need the reminder, it wasn't as if he would ever forget—never be able to forget the hatred that used to leave his mouth.

"I learned how to change."

"Don't give me that," Theo argued coming to stand next to Pansy whose mouth was pinched and clearly offended. "You've changed alright, just not for the better."

Draco ran a hand through his hair as he shook his head. "I didn't realize that treating others with human decency was a problem."

When Greg and Vincent frowned, and their brows furrowed, Draco knew that he had to try harder. People can change if given the chance.

"What are you gaining?" Draco asked as he looked around at them. "Truly, what are you getting by behaving like this? You aren't gaining anyone's respect, you aren't doing anything productive, and you aren't even gaining their attention—because they don't care. No one cares about your bigoted opinions." He glanced towards the Gryffindor team that were up high but looking down curiously.

"So why spread them? Why attack in general? I honestly don't understand."

Pansy looked down to the ground as her face reddened and so did her ears. Theo shifted uncomfortably.

"How about you think of what you are going to say, and question if it's what _you_ think or if it's what you've been _taught_. If you truly agree with the hate you are spreading, then I can't help you. But it's not too late to change."

Draco turned his back, the action causing a few to gasp, but he was trusting them, trusting that they would take his words to heart. He glanced over his shoulder and made eye contact with Potter, who he had known had been staring at him for a while.

There was a lot he wanted to say to Potter, but it was better left unsaid, as were a lot of things.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco snatched the _Daily Prophet_ from Neville's hands as soon as he saw the headline.

"Excuse you," Neville began hotly, hands coming to his hips. "I was reading that."

"No, you weren't. You only wanted to see if there was an expose on foreign Herbology in the entertainment section. Hate to break it to you, but Herbology will never count as entertainment."

Neville began grumbling petulantly as he stabbed his porridge. "It's like you _know_ me."

That caused Draco to roll his eyes but he chose not to comment—Neville could be dramatic at times.

"Umbridge has been named High Inquisitor."

"What's that? Sounds made up."

"It is. Well, technically. It's a real position _now_."

Draco hummed as he read the paper, eyes narrowing in thought. "Says Dumbledore didn't fill the position, no wonder they chose someone like her, then."

When the paper quoted his father, Draco's fingers clenched.

_"’I feel much easier in my mind now that I know that Dumbledore is being subjected to fair and objective evaluation,' said Mr. Lucius Malfoy, 41. 'Many of us, with our children's best interests at heart, have been concerned about some of Dumbledore's eccentric decisions in the last few years and will be glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation."_

"Our children's best interests," Draco repeated as the paper ripped in his hands.

"Draco?"

"Right," Draco laughed, the sound hysterical to his own ears. "Because if he cared about my best interests he wouldn't be who he is. If he actually gave a damn, he wouldn't have pledged his life to a monster."

"Draco—"

"I'm so tired, Neville. Tired of trying so hard to be a better person, and he just sits there with his ignorant beliefs and the papers eat it up. Sure, anyone with a brain knows what he's like, but he reaps the benefit of his crimes, and I'm just so sick of it."

It was the platform mentality all over again. His father was granted a platform to spew his beliefs, and it was working. Society being as impressionable as they were, made his father's plan _easy_.

"But Draco—"

He looked down to the torn pages of the paper and couldn't help but wonder if it was an omen. Would he be split in the same way when his father demands a certain route? Would he be torn as easily as a newspaper? Or would he have a backbone somewhere?

"Draco you aren't his sins."

The sentiment was nice, but Draco couldn't help but feel like somewhere the distinction didn't matter. There would always be people who wouldn't think like Neville.

But it was nice that someone bothered to try at all.

Draco looked up and smiled sadly at Neville.

"The son of a sinner is—"

"Just a son. That's all." The hard quality to Neville's tone and the determination in his eyes had Draco reaching forward to grip Neville's hand in gratitude.

"Thank you."

As they sat across from each other, Draco took a moment to marvel over his friendship with Neville. Neville added something to Draco's life that he never wanted to be without. The friendship, wisdom, and general enjoyment meant everything to him.

Neville made the frustration of the world bearable. And he would do anything to make sure that went both ways.

Anything.

 

* * *

 

 

Umbridge inspecting classes might have seemed entertaining to some students, but Draco didn’t like it—didn’t like the way she postured herself as better than everyone else, better than the professors who had been teaching for years.

When Draco made it to Care of Magical Creatures and noticed Umbridge with a clipboard, he couldn’t help but groan. It was bad enough having to see her for Defence Against the Dark Arts, but during other lessons too?

The lesson was supposed to be on bowtruckles, but it was hard to focus with Umbridge’s questions.

“You don’t normally teach this class, do you?”

Professor Grubbly-Plank nodded distractedly as she corrected Patil’s hold on the bowtruckle.

“Correct, I’m just a substitute teacher filling in for Professor Hagrid.”

Draco narrowed his eyes when Umbridge began scribbling, there was a smirk edging on her face and he knew that was a bad sign.

“The Headmaster seems reluctant to offer any information. I wonder if you might know where Hagrid might be? Or what is causing his extended absence?”

The question was asked in a way that was supposed to be uninterested, but her beady eyes were alight with nothing but interest and Draco wondered how anyone could be fooled by her.

“’Fraid I can’t. Don’t know much more than has been said, although I expect you know more than me. I received an owl from Dumbledore, and here I am.”

Grubbly-Plank walked around the clearing and began answering questions, effectively stopping any further questions from Umbridge. It was a subtle tactic, and Draco rather admired that.

At least until Umbridge began to question the students instead.

For the most part, it was clear that the students didn’t want to say anything bad about Hagrid. He listened in amusement as Brown explained how eccentric the Blast-Ended skrewts were, and how they made her glad to partake in the course. He wasn’t entirely sure he would have been able to lie as well as her if that had been him.

“Now I hear there have been injuries in this class?”

Draco looked around, hoping that Umbridge didn’t already know the answer to that, but when Greg grinned, a horrible smile on his face, a sinking feeling took root.

“That was me,” he said, unable to allow Greg to make it seem worse than it was. He could see Greg frown and he knew that his actions weren’t making sense to Greg, but there wasn’t much else he could do to show that he wasn’t the person Greg used to know.

“A Hippogriff slashed me.”

Umbridge appeared worried, a small frown marred her features, but the pleased glint to her eyes contradicted everything.

“A Hippogriff?”

Draco felt eyes on him, and he glanced until he noticed the intensity to Potter’s stare.

“Yeah,” Draco agreed, eyes still on Potter. “I didn’t listen to Hagrid’s instructions, ended up insulting the Hippogriff. My fault, really.”

Whispers broke out as Umbridge placed her clipboard on her hip and eyed him closely. He knew that she expected a different answer. It was obvious she _knew_ what had happened, and with who his father was, it was clear she wanted him to give an answer that would fit her crusade—and a crusade it was.

“Well,” Umbridge said, tone barely above a whisper but it echoed around the clearing. “I think that’s all I need here Professor Grubbly-Plank.”

Her eyes were still on Draco, and despite the urge to look away, he wouldn’t—not when he needed to say as much as he could silently.

“You will be receiving the results of your inspection in the next few days.”

“Jolly good.”

As Umbridge turned to leave, Draco wondered if Grubbly-Plank's comment was ironic in the foreboding notion that nothing so far in the year had been jolly good.

Nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco sat on the log he liked to think was his as he stared at the Black Lake. It was difficult to find time to do nothing, what with the increased homework load and the extra care he had to put into studying. If Umbridge was a competent teacher, he wouldn’t have to study as hard.

“Malfoy.”

Draco jumped slightly before he scowled up at Potter’s smiling face.

“Was that necessary?”

Potter’s smile turned soft, and Draco’s anger fizzled down at the sight.

“I like messing with you.”

“Prat.” He hated how fond his voice was when it came to Potter.

“Neville said you would be out here.”

Draco hummed as he looked back to the lake.

“And why were you looking for me?”

When Potter didn’t say anything, Draco glanced at him, surprised to see a flush on his cheeks.

“The thing is—well it’s Hermione’s doing, Ron’s too, I suppose. They think that Umbridge is a rotten teacher—”

“I would have to agree with them,” Draco commented, annoyed that they were in agreement at all.

“—And they got this idea in their heads that I would make a better teacher, an idea that I don’t agree with. But we are tired of nothing being done in the lessons, and even the books make a better teacher.”

Potter rambling would always make Draco smile. He watched the way the flush grew, and he wondered if Potter realized how endearing it was.

“They think that I can offer something that she can’t. And I suppose compared to her, then I wouldn’t make a bad teacher, though I’m not really qualified, you know? I’m just a teenager, really. What do I know?”

“I think you know a lot.”

As the flush darkened, Draco felt his own cheeks heat up.

Potter looked at him, and he wished the awed look wasn’t there, it wasn’t fair that one look from Potter could turn his stomach to mush.

“Do you want to go?”

Draco furrowed his brows. “To what? Your lessons?”

Potter nodded his head, the hair falling forward, and Draco itched to put it in place.

“Yeah, the first meeting is this weekend. Hermione said she has a few people who want to learn.”

Draco bit his lip before he looked down at the ground. He wanted to learn, wanted to actually do something for Defence Against the Dark Arts, but was this what he wanted? It wasn’t as if he thought Potter would make a bad teacher, not when one looked at everything Potter had done, but it was a bold move.

It was a new path all over again. If he took Potter’s lesson, it would be one more step towards making a stance, and Draco wasn’t sure it was the right time to do so.

Was he prepared for the consequences should it be found out? If he was to take the lessons and it later be discovered by his father, then Draco wouldn’t be able to come back from that. There would be no saving grace.

Draco clasped his hands together as his mind whirled. If he went, he’d have to face the opinions of others, the opinions of students who didn’t know him—didn’t know who he really was. No one Potter invited would be willing to see a different side of him.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with the drama it would bring. Wasn’t sure it would be worth it.

“I want to,” he whispered. “But I can’t.”

There was a moment of silence before Potter spoke up.

_“Why?”_

“I don’t think I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?”

Draco looked up and willed Potter to understand.

“If I go, I can’t come back from that.”

Potter’s forehead wrinkled and a small frown formed.

“So? Then don’t come back. Go forward.”

“It’s not that easy.”

When Potter scoffed, he wanted to hex the bloody git.

“Yes, it is.”

Draco threw his hands up in frustration.

“Maybe for you! Maybe for someone who has always been good, but I’m not like you! I have to actively work at being who I am, Potter. You are asking a lot of me.”

Potter stood up, his hands lifting to run through his hair.

“No, I’m not. I’m asking you to be brave and take the damn lessons.”

Brave. Draco laughed hollowly, watched as Potter flinched at the sound.

“Brave?” He shook his head. “You rebel against _everything_ you have ever known and tell me that that isn’t brave.”

“Malfoy—”

“You ignore _everything_ your family has ever told you and tell me that isn’t brave.”

Potter opened his mouth, but Draco stood up, anger ruling his actions.

“You look at who you are and realize it’s not good, rotten even, and then try and change who you are, and tell me that isn’t brave.”

Draco shook his head when Potter raised a hand as if to touch, but Draco took a step back.

“You don’t get to judge me. You don’t get to act like my progress isn’t enough. I’m not you. I’m never going to be good, I’m never going to be someone as light or as worthy as you.”

“That’s—”

“And I've accepted that,” Draco whispered as he turned his back, turned his back on more than just Potter. “I’ve accepted who I am and my own choices. It’ll be at my own pace, and if that’s not good enough for you, then go fuck yourself.”

“Draco.”

“Don’t,” Draco begged. “Don’t go there. Why do you have to make everything so bloody difficult?”

A hand on his shoulder had Draco slumping under the weight of everything.

“I’m sorry.”

He knew Potter was sorry for more than just the direction their conversation had taken. But was it enough? Was anything enough?

“Me too.”

Only Draco wasn’t sure what he was sorry for anymore. With the weight of the world on his shoulders, he was beginning to grow numb to it all.

What did apologies matter in the end anyway?

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m going to miss you.”

“What are you on about?” Draco asked as he fought the urge to look at Neville, he wanted to continue to watch the clouds. They were on their backs on the Quidditch pitch, looking at the sky.

“We see each other every day.”

“I know,” Neville sighed. “But I was looking forward to doing Harry’s lessons with you.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably. It was one thing to disappoint Potter, but Neville too? Part of him felt as if he was being left behind. Those that mattered would be in Potter’s stupid club, even Neville.

“Neville—”

“No, don’t apologize.”

He looked to the side and sighed at the serious look Neville gave him.

“I almost told Harry no.”

Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why would you do that?” It didn’t make sense for Neville to turn down the chance to _actually_ learning something for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

“I didn’t want to go if you weren’t going to.”

“And what changed your mind?” He refused to let warmth fill him at Neville’s words.

Neville smiled brightly as he flopped on the ground more firmly.

“I figured if you couldn’t go to the lessons, then I could bring the lessons to you.”

“What does that mean?” He was honestly a little worried, Neville’s plans weren’t always the best.

“I’ll teach you whatever Harry teaches me.”

Draco knew that Neville had a hard time with lessons as it was, but he couldn’t look into excited eyes and offer anything but an affirmative. If Neville wanted to teach him, then who was he to deny that?

“Alright. Teach me.”

The sound of Neville’s excited whoop was the only warning Draco had to prepare himself before he was manhandled into an upright position and pulled into a hug.

Perhaps being left behind wouldn’t be so bad after all.

 

* * *

 

 

Draco was used to the dirty passageway that he liked to consider his go-to spot for conversations with Dobby. The rock was still uncomfortable, but it was better than the floor.

“—Dobby said to Winky that the soup needed to be tasted first, but Winky wasn’t listening.”

“What was she doing?”

“Winky was drinking more butterbeer!” Dobby yelled far louder than necessary as he clapped his hands for emphasis.

Draco frowned as he placed his chin in the palm of his hand. “Why? You said she had one bottle already, any past that and it reaches toxic levels for a house elf.”

Dobby’s ears drooped as he looked to the ground. “Winky be knowing, Draco. She doesn’t care, misses her old Master.”

An ugly uncomfortable feeling took root in his stomach at the thought. It wasn’t uncommon for house elves to go unhinged if released from servitude. He knew Winky wouldn’t have been the first to drown her worries in butterbeer, but the reason for it at all angered him. House elves shouldn’t have been in servitude in the first place, let alone be shamed when let go.

“And the other house elves? How are are they treating her?”

“Winky is pitied.”

Draco sighed as he tried not to become angry with them. He knew it would take a lot to change the world—he just wished it wasn’t so daunting.

“And you? How are they treating you?

When Dobby said nothing, Draco frowned.

“Are you alright?” he asked as Dobby’s shoulders shook slightly.

Dobby tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace to Draco.

“Dobby is—Dobby is fine.”

Draco knew a lie when faced with one, he’d been raised with them all his life. He opened his arms and smiled sadly when Dobby rushed forward and hugged him tightly.

“Dobby is not fine,” Dobby whispered into Draco’s stomach. “They don’t understand.”

“What don’t they understand?” Draco’s heart broke as Dobby tried to wipe his eyes on his uniform.

“Freedom. They don’t understand what it’s like for Dobby. Dobby gets to choose what he wants, and Dobby _likes_ it.”

He wasn’t sure what to say, he knew it wasn’t exactly the other house elves’ fault for thinking the way they did, but it wasn’t okay to make Dobby feel excluded.

“Dobby doesn’t blame them,” Dobby said, voice tinged with a sadness that Draco could empathize with but not understand—not on a deeper level, and not with personal experience.

“You have a heart worth praising,” Draco whispered. He couldn’t go through Dobby’s experiences and still be happy, still be positive.

“Dobby learned from Draco.”

He blinked rapidly as a shame filled him. Draco wasn’t the person Dobby saw, wasn’t someone worth being praised, nor was he worth the adoration in large eyes that blinked up at him.

“I disagree.”

“Draco needs to be quiet,” Dobby scolded as he stepped back and crossed his arms.

Draco smiled slightly but said nothing, Dobby would push the issue if challenged.

“What else have you been up to?” Draco asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Dobby has been seeing Harry Potter!”

“Oh?” Draco tried to appear disinterested, but Dobby’s ears wiggled and his nose scrunched up.

“Harry Potter is in need of help, Dobby can tell, but Dobby hasn’t offered.”

“And you think that is wise?” Draco teased as he leaned away from a playful slap from Dobby. “Your ideas nearly get him killed, you know.”

Determination filled Dobby’s eyes and he knew that nothing would deter Dobby, sense had already vanished.

“Dobby will help Harry Potter.”

It was a declaration of sorts and he knew better than to argue.

“Then go,” Draco ushered him out with a wave. “Help Potter, Merlin knows he needs it.”

They all did.

 

* * *

 

 

“—and there was this flick of the wrist movement that Harry showed me too, but I’m not sure it really was all that special. Honestly looked like he was having a muscle spasm. Oi! Are you even listening to me?”

Draco hummed in agreement as he looked around the room Neville brought him to.

“Where are we?”

“The Room of Requirement. I guess Dobby showed it to Harry.”

Draco smiled, glad that Dobby had been able to help after all.

“I knew you weren’t listening to me.”

“Sorry,” Draco apologized, but he wasn’t really that sorry. “Tell me again.”

Neville huffed, seemingly put out.

“Harry taught us the Disarming Charm. I was talking about his wrist flicks.”

Draco arched a brow and laughed when Neville went red in the face.

“Not like that, you wanker. I meant his wand flicks.”

Draco bit his lip to stop from further laughing. He had to run when Neville narrowed his eyes, he knew what that look meant.

“Alright, alright!” Draco cried as Neville came closer. “I was just kidding. Please teach me, oh wise one.”

“That’s acceptable,” Neville grumbled as he straightened his robes. “Wise and charming would have been preferred, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Draco felt his eye twitch in annoyance, but he said nothing and focused on the proper wand placement Neville was showing him.

“I’m still unsure Harry’s wrist movements need to be so emphasized, but it works for him.” Neville shrugged once and continued to practice the movement.

When Neville said the spell and nothing happened, Draco narrowed his eyes.

“Move your wrist slower and say it again.”

Neville did as asked, and this time his wand light up and a spark of red shot out.

“Oh!” Neville exclaimed, eyes wide and bright. “Not quite the actual spell, but it’s better than before.”

Draco furrowed his brows as he tried to understand. “You said Potter’s movements were more intricate?”

“Mhm, Hermione’s too.”

“Not all spells require precise wand movements.”

“I know that.”

Draco ignored the defensive tone as he tried not to lose focus.

“Sometimes it depends on the maturity level of your magical core.”

“Yes, I am aware, I have been taking the same classes as you for years.”

Draco rolled his eyes. Sometimes he wondered how much of Neville’s personality had been shaped by him.

“Which _means_ that your hand movements aren’t going to be the same as Potter. You have to find your own center, your own way of practicing the spell.”

“But it’s a defensive spell, that should require it to be precise.”

“It’s offensive too. Disarming someone is just as much of a defence for you as it is a hindrance to them.”

Neville looked down to his wand, clearly lost in thought.

“I just have to keep practicing.”

“Exactly.”

When Neville suddenly grinned, Draco took a wary step backward.

“You know,” Neville began, tone teasing. “You would make a good teacher too.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m no teacher, Neville. Just an observer.”

“One of these days, I’m going to get you to see what I see when I look at you.”

“And what do you see?”

Neville smiled softly. “Everything.”

“I think you are just biased.” Draco looked to the ground as his face pinked up.

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t make it any less true, and one day you’ll see it, too.”

“And if that day is far away?”

Neville’s smile grew wider. “Then I’ll see it for you.”

Perhaps Neville was right, maybe one day he would see that too.

One day.

 

* * *

 

 

When Draco walked towards the lake, he wasn’t surprised to see Potter sitting on the log he liked to think was his.

“What’s on your mind today? Umbridge still giving you issues?”

Potter snorted derisively. “Always.”

Draco sat down next to him, eyes on the lake, wishing that he felt as serene as the still water.

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh? How come?”

“Do I need a reason to talk to you?”

“You always have before,” Draco pointed out, tone light but curious.

Potter said nothing, but Draco wasn’t bothered by the silence, not when his life sometimes seemed anything but.

“Can you see the thestrals?”

Draco tilted his head back in surprise as his eyes widened.

“No.”

Potter’s shoulders slumped, but he didn’t seem to have expected a different answer.

“Part of me hates them.”

The admittance had Draco wary of the conversation that would arise. He wasn’t good at being someone else’s comfort, nor was he sure he was the right person for the job.

“To see them means to see death, and I wish my experiences had never granted me that sight. But they aren’t doing anything but being who they are, you know?”

He had never given much thought to Thestrals, but he was curious to hear what Potter thought. Draco wasn’t sure he would ever want to see them.

“They remind me of myself.”

“How so?”

Potter tilted his head back and looked up at the sky.

“They know darkness, their existence brings debate—those who will vilify them and condemn them one minute but then use them for their own benefit the next. They are an omen, a bad symbol among society, and yet, people can’t stop talking about them.”

Draco felt uncomfortable with the similarities. Was that really what Potter thought?

“Society treats me the same way. I never know who they expect me to be, never know what image I am to live up to. Am I the omen they want to paint me as? Or am I just living by my own credence? I honestly don’t know anymore.”

“What do you want?” Draco asked. “That’s what’s important.”

A bitter smile had Draco’s stomach lurching. “I don’t think it matters much what I want anymore.”

“It should,” Draco argued. “What you want _should_ matter.”

“Maybe in a perfect world. A world with no strife or horrible people.”

Draco wanted to continue with his point, wanted to tell Potter that he could still do what he wanted, but the hypocrisy burned his throat. He understood what Potter meant, understood exactly why doing what one wanted didn’t always pan out.

“What else happens in a perfect world?”

Potter smiled sadly as he looked at Draco. “Anything you want.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.” Potter’s grin grew and Draco wished he could make that a reality, make a world that would always have such an innocence to it.

Potter’s smile dimmed a little, and Draco knew that all good things end at some point. They have to.

“Did you know that Luna can see the thestrals?”

Draco hummed as he shook his head. “Most of our conversations revolve around Nargles, to be honest.”

An odd look appeared on Potter’s face, he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“What exactly is a Nargle?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Draco said with a laugh and a fond smile. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Lovegood was the wisest one out of all of us.”

Potter’s brows merged as a doubtful expression caused Draco to laugh.

“No,” Draco continued. “She’s brilliant, just not in the way one would expect.”

“Brilliant?” Potter echoed, tone sounding strangely empty.

“She is a Ravenclaw, after all.” Draco wasn’t sure why Potter looked sour.

“Hermione is brilliant and not a Ravenclaw.”

“Sure,” he agreed. “But Granger and Lovegood are very different. Granger has a recklessness to her, something that I figure is largely influenced by you.”

Potter rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, and that was the only proof Draco needed.

“There’s a certain intelligence to Lovegood that you don’t see often. She’s open to the belief of things that others lose faith in.”

“She sees things that aren’t there,” Potter added with an uneasy expression.

“They aren’t there for _us_ ,” Draco argued. “Who is to say that they aren’t there for her?”

“Why do you care?”

Draco frowned at Potter.

“She fascinates me. Despite the way people treat her, Lovegood maintains her beliefs. She truly believes in things that others don’t. She has this faith, and nothing anyone says will change that. It’s admirable, really.”

The more Draco spoke, the more Potter seemed to grow upset, and he was honestly baffled.

“Do you not like her?”

Potter grimaced. “I don’t _not_ like her.”

One side of Draco’s lips quirked up as he tried to figure Potter out.

“She, er, seems close with you.”

Draco blinked rapidly. “Not really. We talk occasionally. I think she could be a good friend, but we aren’t quite there yet.”

It wasn’t until Potter’s shoulders relaxed that Draco _understood_.

“I don’t like her the way I like you, Potter.”

He knew his face was flushed, knew that there was no way around that, but as he looked into pleased eyes, he figured a small amount of embarrassment was an alright price to pay.

“Oh.”

Draco rolled his eyes as he stood up. “Next time, ask me, alright? You jealous prat.”

“I wasn’t jealous.”

“I believe in the Crumple-Horned Snorkack far more than I believe you.”

Potter laughed, the booming noise echoing around them.

“You are such a git, get out of here.”

The sound of Potter’s laughter stuck with Draco well past when it should have disappeared.

 

* * *

 

 

**Dear Cousin** ,

_I regret that this letter will be different from my normal method. I would love to offer insightful questions, or begin a discussion that might make you think. There is a lot inside of my head that I would like to talk about, but unfortunately, that will have to wait._

_Things are changing, and not for the better. How cryptic that must sound, but I have noticed a change recently, and it must be talked about._

_The Dark Lord has always been mad with power, and has always gone for those who oppose that, or he aims to find things to aid his quest for control. But as of late, I have noticed a decrease in attendance when it comes to meetings. The Dark Lord has been absent, and when he is present, there is a thoughtful vacancy that fills him._

_What has happened?_

_Our raids have increased and with that comes an increase in violence. Despite the raids, the Dark Lord is never pleased, he insists we do more, insists we try harder._

_I don’t want to try harder, I don’t want to try at all._

_Whispers among our ranks suggest the Dark Lord is looking for something. Speculation would be unwise with no corroboration, and idle tongue is not reliable. Imagination, however, is prominent._

_I will admit, I am worried. Anything the Dark Lord seeks will only add to the suffering of others. I do not know what lies ahead, and for that I am scared._

_The Death Eaters are restless. The inner circle shares nothing, and the Dark Lord remains silent._

_There is nothing I can do to quench my curiosity, but something tells me to remain vigilant. Something is brewing, but I fear the potion will do no good._

_Is it strange that writing to you has helped my spirits? It’s cathartic in a way, having an outlet. I wish I could hear a response, read your words or talk to you. I want to meet you, cousin, want to have a hand in raising you, or to have shaped your life in some way._

_There is so much I want to say to you, so many lessons, so many conversations, and I wonder if there will ever be time to explore it all._

_I hope so._

_Take care, and I hope all is well._

 

**Love,**

**Regulus**

 

* * *

 

 

Draco took a shaky breath as he reread the letter three times. Was it a preface for whatever had happened to Regulus? Would the letters shine light on what had happened to his cousin? Was he going to find out how he had died?

The letter was a bit of a mess and it showed what kind of stress Regulus had been under. He wanted to know more, wanted to know what the Dark Lord had planned all those years ago, wanted to know what had captured his interest. The letters weren’t dated, so Draco had no way of knowing how close it was to when Regulus disappeared.

He wished he could reply, wished that there was a way for him to be able to talk to Regulus, let him know that even if he couldn’t return any letters, that his cousin had still shaped his life. Draco wasn’t sure what kind of person he would have been without Regulus.

Would he have ever looked deeper into himself? Would he have believed his father’s teachings easier? Would he have the courage to be a better person? What would have happened to him if not for the letters?

He owed a lot to Regulus, and he hoped that despite everything that happened, that Regulus knew it. Draco prayed that his cousin knew how much it all meant to him.

Regulus was important to him, and it wasn’t fair that no one would ever know about it.

 

* * *

 

 

“That doesn’t make much sense,” Neville said as Draco tried not to laugh. The train jerked a bit as it got up to speed, he watched the scenery pass quickly and eyed the castle until he could no longer see it.

“Depends on your perception,” Lovegood murmured as she leafed through the _Quibbler._ “Black could very well be the lead singer. Makes sense if you consider his singing abilities. What do you think, Draco? You’re his cousin.”

“I never met him,” Draco said with a small smile. “But sure, let’s say I believe you, why now? Why is this only brought up now?”

When she shrugged, he wondered if she believed what the _Quibbler_ said or was just baiting him.

“The truth doesn’t always happen immediately, sometimes it takes time.”

Neville narrowed his eyes. “That is either really wise, or an excuse.”

Lovegood grinned but didn’t look up from the magazine. “And what do you think Neville?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

Draco watched Neville place a hand to his chin and couldn’t help but appreciate the change in their friendship. Sure, it was clear that Neville still thought she was madder than all could be, but at least he was listening.

“Well, how about you let me know when you decide,” Lovegood said with a snap of the magazine before she eyed them closely.

“Daddy says that your parents are searching for Umgubular Slashkitlers over the holidays.”

Draco cocked his head to the side and ignored Neville’s curious gaze.

“What is that?”

“Rather clever creatures, but notorious for their mischief— _bad_ mischief.”

He narrowed his eyes at her explanation as his mind began to wander.

“They tend to allow other creatures to protect them, but at a cost.”

Draco’s eyes looked past Lovegood’s head as they unfocused. He had _known_ that she was smart, but this was something else altogether. Smart, perceptive, and knowledgeable in means of resources.

“My parents are going abroad over most of the holidays, which is why I have been invited to spend the next few weeks with Neville until they return.”

“And we are going to have so much fun. I can show you the new greenhouse Gran set up. It’s nothing big, just a small space, but it’s big enough for the Devil’s Snare I’ve been growing since first year.”

Draco mindlessly listened to Neville as he locked eyes with Lovegood. He wasn’t sure what it was that she knew, but it was obvious that she was aware of something others weren’t.  

His mother liked to leave the country from time to time, but not his father. His father liked to reiterate the belief that any business associate that wouldn’t come to him, was one not worth it. The fact that they both were to leave proved that _something_ had changed, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what.

Part of him wanted to stay with Neville for the entire winter break, but his father had requested he be there the night before he was to return to Hogwarts. He honestly dreaded it already.

“Gran stays pretty busy throughout the day, so I don’t expect we’ll see much of her till dinner most nights.”

“Sounds nice,” Draco said distractedly as his mind still wandered.

“She isn’t much of a cook, not since she ate the last house elf.”

“Mhm.”

“And the Aurors questioned her sanity.”

“Yeah—wait, what?” Draco turned towards Neville with a frown. “What nonsense did you just say?”

Neville had a pout on his face, and he had to fight the thought of it being endearing.

“You weren’t even listening.”

“Sorry,” Draco apologized. “My mind is elsewhere.”

“Is it the Nargles?” Both Luna and Neville said in unison, and Draco wondered if it was too late to return to the castle.

As they traded high fives, Draco shook his head fondly at them. He was positive with given time they would become great friends.

“Nah, I rather like the Nargles.”

As Lovegood began another speech on why it wasn’t beneficial to be around Nargles, Draco tried not to notice Neville’s worried glances.

There was nothing that could make his life easier to deal with, nothing to make his father be a better person, and nothing to make the world a safer place.

Why bring up what can’t be changed?

 

* * *

 

 

Draco wasn’t sure how Neville became such a kind, caring person with a Grandmother like Augusta. He had watched her berate Neville for every minuscule thing she perceived as a wrongdoing, listened to her criticize his every move and then claim it was because she cared.

_“Don’t slouch, Neville, it’s beneath you.”_

_“You don’t need another wand, your father’s wand is just fine. Not that you could perform half the magic he could at your age.”_

_“Do you really need another treacle tart?”_

_“How you made friends is a mystery to me with the lack of manners you possess.”_

_“When we go out, don’t speak much.”_

_“Your mother had a brain on her, not sure who you inherited yours from.”_

Every time she opened her mouth, Draco had to fight the urge to hex her. He had known for years that Neville’s boggart could have been her, but it wasn’t until he met her that he truly understood. She wasn’t cruel in the way his own father was, but she was emotionally cruel, and that was equally as bad.

Something Neville didn’t deserve.

But it wasn’t until Draco watched Alice Longbottom hand Neville her folded up gum wrappers in St. Mungo’s that his heart truly broke for him.

Neville loved his parents, and he was sure if things had turned out differently, they would have loved Neville with everything they had.

Part of him wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. Sure, his own parents were useless, but at least they knew who he was and were well enough to be able to take care of him. Shame filled Draco for never fully grasping Neville’s situation until faced with it.

It didn’t help that his own cousin was responsible for putting Neville’s parents in St. Mungo’s. He knew it wasn’t his guilt to bear, but someone should consciously be thinking about it, and Draco knew that Bellatrix didn’t, not if Severus was to be believed when it came to her personality.

When Alice handed Draco a wrapper, he felt his eyes sting.

“Oh! I think mum likes you.” The happiness in Neville’s voice shattered his resolve and he threw himself forward and into surprised arms.

“Are you alright? If you don’t want the wrapper, I can keep it instead.”

Draco had to swallow thickly before he could speak.

“I’m going to keep it.” He wasn’t sure he had ever received such a meaningful gift before.

Voices could be heard, but neither moved. Draco lowered his head till it was resting on Neville’s shoulders.

“I really like your parents, Neville. I think they would be proud of who you are.”

A shaky exhale caused Draco to close his eyes tightly.

“I know I am proud of you.”

“Draco,” Neville whispered, emotions palpable. “Thank you for coming with me. It means more than you know.”

“I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

They stood in silence; the sounds of the staff and visitors outside drowned out the pleased noises Alice made every time she blew a bubble out of the gum.

“—I don’t know why he hasn’t introduced us before.” Augusta’s voice had Draco annoyed before she ever walked in, but there was no stopping that.

“Why am I never surprised to see you two hugging?”

Draco took a step back at the sound of Potter’s voice. He pushed Neville behind backwards to allow him the chance to wipe his eyes.

“Potter,” Draco drawled, amused when Weasley and Granger walked in and waved. It was a strange feeling to have no discord among them — he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Neville!” Granger and Weasley yelled in unison.

“I didn’t know you were visiting anyone,” Weasley bellowed with not much tact as he tried to look over the divisions keeping the beds separated.

When Augusta opened her mouth and Neville tensed, Draco stepped forward.

“The healers mentioned they needed to do some routine checkups so actually, we were just leaving.”

“Oh, did they?” Augusta asked as she moved over to Frank. “I’ll just say my goodbyes, then.”

Draco pulled lightly on Neville’s sleeve to get him to walk with him towards the trio of idiots.

“What brings you three here?” Neville asked, the cheeriness in his voice falling flat — at least it did for Draco.

“Oh, my dad is recovering from an attack, but he’s alright.”

Draco looked to Potter with arched brows. An attack? One that wasn’t covered by the _Daily Prophet._

When Potter looked elsewhere, he wondered what had really happened. It was clearly something that wouldn’t be shared any time soon. The added mystery annoyed him more than made him curious.

“Arthur is ill, is he?” Augusta said as she ushered them out of the room. “I’ll have to send the house elf over with a basket of goods. I’m sure Molly would appreciate it. Must be stressful with so many children to take care of and handle Arthur being ill too.”

A bitter smile stretched Neville’s lips and Draco entwined their arms in comfort. It was odd that Augusta could care about other people but ignore her own Grandson’s suffering.

“She’d like that Ms. Longbottom,” Weasley said with a grateful smile.

As they parted ways, Draco sent a lingering look towards Potter. He didn’t want his suspicions answered, but he at least wanted Potter to _know_ that he was onto him.

Potter’s nose scrunched up as he smiled, and Draco realized that it would be hard to get one up on him, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying.

If he couldn't bait Potter, then what else was life good for?

 

* * *

 

 

Draco waited until he knew it was just slightly past acceptable to enter his father’s study. He had been summoned an hour ago but hadn’t wanted to please his father.

“Right away Master Lucius.”

He stilled at the unfamiliar voice. He could tell it was a house elf, but there hadn’t been word on his father getting another one, nor had a bond formed between all members of the family and the new house elf.

The only thing he could think of was that the house elf was willingly listening to his father’s orders, but that wasn’t normal.

“Remember, Kreacher, Black knows nothing. Keep it that way.”

Black? Did that mean Kreacher belonged to Black? There was a niggling in the back of his mind as he tried to remember if his mother had ever mentioned the Black family to have a house elf, still. What had Kreacher done while Black had been in Azkaban? House elves still bound to a lineage with no instructions tend to go mad.

He waited until the sound of a disapparation could be heard before he knocked on the door.

“You’re late,” his father said before the door was fully opened.

“I apologize, I was making sure everything was in order before my departure tomorrow.”

“I didn’t ask for your excuses.”

Draco clenched his hands briefly as he tried to maintain a calm expression. It was hard listening to his father and continue to be what was expected of him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t grovel, Draco, it’s beneath you.”

He bit his tongue to stop from saying anything. There honestly was no point, not when his father was determined to argue every point.

“How was your _trip_?” It was sneered with disgust, and it had Draco’s stomach sinking.

“Not as informative as I would have liked,” Draco said as he tried to make his voice sound disappointed.

“You disappoint me.”

Nothing new, then.

“I have done so much for you, and you repay me with scraps and disobedience.”

Draco’s mouth parted indignantly but he said nothing, he knew better.

“How can I be proud of you? How can I show you to others when there’s nothing to show.”

He tried not to let that get to him, tried not to care that his father would never care about him, but it stung—hurt more than he cared to admit.

“Learn from this Draco,” his father said as he pulled out his wand. “Learn to be better and I might show your obedience to the Dark Lord.”

Panic flared inside of him as dread filled his stomach. The Dark Lord? Draco didn’t want to meet him, didn’t want any sort of obedience the Dark Lord might value.

As a flash of red shot out of his father’s wand, Draco’s mind was too distracted to care about the sting of a hex.

All he could picture was the robes his father had in a closet, and a mask that starred in his nightmares. He didn’t want that, didn’t want that to be his future.

“I do this because I care,” His father continued, unaware of the inner turmoil inside of him.

Draco knew time was ticking down, and he wished that he could write his troubles down like Regulus did, wished he had someone to vent to, someone who cared.

He wished he could have met Regulus, even just once.

 

* * *

 

 

“Will this be a recurring thing?” Draco asked as he pushed Potter to the side so that he could sit on the log too. “Or is this a fluke?”

When Potter didn’t smile, smirk, or scoff, Draco grew worried.

“Are you alright?” Draco asked as the silence stretched, and the air around them grew stifling.

“How do you know if what’s in your head is truly your own thoughts?”

Draco’s forehead pinched and he frowned deeply. “Is that supposed to symbolize something? Or do you mean it as it sounds?”

Potter shook his head, but his eyes were too expressive, filled with too much emotion and Draco didn’t know how to proceed.

“I’m just so _angry_ all the time,” Potter finally said. “I feel things that aren’t me, I see things that aren’t me.”

There was a beat of silence before horror filled Draco at the implications.

“I worry that I won’t know who I am anymore.”

Draco placed his hand on the back of Potter’s for comfort as the words he wanted to voice left him.

“What once was my own privacy feels vulnerable,” Potter said, tone open in a way Draco had never heard before. “My dreams are invaded every night, my waking day is filled with the reminder, and even society isn’t distracting as the events are displayed in the paper.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Draco whispered. “I want to say it’ll get better, but false hope never did anything for anyone.”

Potter huffed, the sound not quite a laugh, but it wasn’t the derisive noise he thought it would be.

“Your lack of words are far more comforting than if you had made something up. I can feel your honesty.”

Honesty was the only thing Draco had as of late.

“Dumbledore has suggested that Occlumency is an important tool for me to learn.”

“He’s not wrong,” Draco said reluctantly.

“Snape is my teacher.”

Draco’s brows arched and he withdrew his hand to cover his mouth.

_“Why_?” He couldn’t fathom what would make Dumbledore think Severus would make a good Occlumency teacher—not just for Potter but for _anyone_.

“This won’t end well,” Draco continued as Potter dragged his hand back in place, only he entwined their fingers.

Draco looked down and wished that the action hadn’t sent his heart into palpitations.

“You have been teaching yourself Occlumency, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m a novice, Potter. I don’t know what I’m doing half the time.”

“Am I supposed to feel cracked open with each lesson? I feel like my mind is laid open for the world to see, and the dreams get worse afterward.”

Draco shook his head violently. “Maybe the first lesson, your mind might be more active, but that’s to be expected. But as time passes, you should become more firm in your practices. If your mind is feeling broken into, then there is a problem.”

“Practices?”

“Mhm,” he nodded once. “Like clearing your mind, shields, or mental muscle stretches.”

The confusion on Potter’s face caused Draco to narrow his eyes. “Snape _did_ tell you about those, didn’t he?”

“He mentioned that I needed to clear my mind,” Potter offered with a shrug. “But he didn’t tell me how to do that.”

“I’m confused,” Draco admitted as he bit his lip. If Severus hadn’t taught Potter any safety measures, then what had he done? “How do your lessons usually go?”

“He tells me to clear my mind, and then he uses Legilimency on me.”

_“Excuse me?”_ Draco’s mouth parted as his eyes widened. “I must have heard you wrong.”

Potter shook his head but said nothing.

“You mean to tell me that he hasn’t fully prepared you for any sort of Occlumency before he immediately breaks open your mind with Legilimency?”

When Potter nodded, Draco stood up rapidly.

“What, where are you going?”

“Excuse me, I have something to sort.”

He knew that Potter didn’t understand, but that was alright, he would in due time.

 

* * *

 

 

The sound the door made as it slammed against the wall was almost as good as the way a few stragglers startled in surprise as Draco stormed into Severus’ last class of the day.

“Mister Malfoy, what are you doing?” Severus asked as he gestured for the first years to leave.

Draco waited until the door was shut before he sat on top of the nearest table, he knew Severus hated when students did that.

“I had an interesting conversation with Potter just now.”

Severus rolled his eyes as he began to put away extra ingredients. “Spare me the boring details, if you will.”

“It’s funny, I could have sworn there were actual methods to Occlumency. Proper protocols, a set guideline, and definitely a good teacher.”

When Severus’ hand stilled over a bottle of dittany, Draco jumped off the table.

“I don’t understand, Uncle Severus. Why would you make it harder for him? When his life is already shit?”

“Whatever Potter told you—”

“Is probably true,” Draco finished for him, arms folded. “I _know_ that you know that messing with the mind is dangerous. But performing Legilimency on someone who doesn’t even know the basics of Occlumency?”

“It’s not your place to question my actions.” His tone was firm, and if Draco was anyone else, he might have fled, but he couldn’t.

“If I don’t, no one will,” Draco whispered. “You could do some serious harm with Potter. I don’t entirely understand what your problem is with him. Sure, he’s brash, annoying, a git, self-righteous, has way too many morals, no sense of fashion, his taste is questionable, and he has a hero complex.”

Draco smiled despite his mood.

“But he’s so much more than that. He drives me mad, but at the same time, I want to know what else is coming. What else will he think of? Potter has faults, faults that I’m sure you haven’t been shy about mentioning. But he has merits to him, a lot of merits.

“Something you wouldn’t know if you continue to look at the world with blinders. You are so quick to come to the defence of our house, people who are judged unfairly, and yet, the hypocrisy befalls you.”

A thunderous expression crossed Severus’ face, but Draco wasn’t afraid, nor was he worried.

“Do not lecture on what you don’t understand.”

“You’re right,” Draco agreed readily. “I don’t understand. I can’t for the life of me figure out why you would treat something so serious as Occlumency as a joke. Your lessons with Potter will _not_ protect him. And if he’s supposed to be the bloody saviour then you are making it _that_ much easier for the Dark Lord. You are cracking him open and leaving him vulnerable. Unless… that’s what you want.”

Severus straightened up until he was towering over Draco.

“You question my stance? It should be obvious where my loyalties lie.”

Draco lifted both of his hands into the air.

“Then act like it.”

It felt odd to oppose Severus so openly. Normally, he agreed with his position, agreed with the status quo, but Draco couldn’t continue to do so, not when it made no sense.

Draco turned around and made his way to the door. Either Severus would listen, or he wouldn't.

“If you can’t change your mind about him, then at least find him a better teacher. He deserves that much.”

The silence that followed was better than he could have hoped for.

 

* * *

 

 

As Draco walked by the wall with the ever-growing number of Educational Decrees, he couldn’t help but laugh at them. They were ridiculous, and it spoke to how bad the Ministry had become that each one had been approved by Fudge.

“I’m telling you, Fred, the next one’s going to be about something stupid.”

“That’s a given. I want to bet on what it will be. Where’s your level of dramatics?”

Draco stopped near the entrance of the Great Hall to peer at the Weasley twins curiously.

“I reckon you both used up all your dramatics. Who says you have any left?”

Instead of them growing bitter, they turned to Draco in delight.

“Little Malfoy wants to play,” they said in unison.

He shifted on his feet slightly. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

“No, I think I’m fine. Carry on.”

He managed to turn around, but before he could walk forward, an arm wrapped around his waist and another around his neck.

“You know, if Harry wouldn’t have killed us, I think I might have gone after you.”

Draco felt his face flush and he wished he knew which one was which, as to properly hex the idiot.

“I don’t know, George, I think I would have fought you for him.”

“As flattered as I am,” Draco drawled as he pushed the doors open. He tried to ignore the way several heads turned towards him, including Potter.

“I don’t think it would have worked.”

One of them clutched their chest and tried to swoon as best as they could while still holding onto Draco.

“My heart has been broken before we could even get involved. How cruel to tempt me with happiness only to rip it away.”

The level of dramatics was almost too much for Draco, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

Draco wiggled his way out of their hold and took a step back.

“You see, I’m a selfish person. I don’t think I could have had one of you without the other,” Draco teased with a wink.

When one twin arched a brow, and the other parted their mouth, Draco decided his work was done.

“Do send my love to Potter, won’t you?”

It wasn’t until Draco was almost at the Slytherin table that he heard one of them say, “Why is Harry always the lucky one?”

“Are you flirting with blood traitors?”

Draco ignored Pansy and chose to sit near the edge of the table to wait for Neville.

“Would make sense,” Theodore said in faux confusion. “If he was becoming one himself.”

He clenched his jaw as he tried to regulate his breathing as to not show how much they bothered him.

“Better a blood traitor than a blood purist any day,” Neville said, tone hard in a way Draco was rather proud of.

Neville’s voice was the relief Draco needed. He smiled gratefully as he got up. He’d rather eat in the kitchens than eat with the rest of his house. Perhaps Dobby would have some free time to talk.

“We’ll see about that!” Nott yelled loud enough that a few students from other tables turned to listen.

“Yeah, we will,” Draco called over his shoulder.

In the end, they would all see.

 

* * *

 

 

“Rumour has it that Chang has a thing for you,” Draco said when he heard the telltale sound of Potter’s feet.

“The rumour mill is filled with a lot of lies, you know this.”

Despite Potter sitting down next to him, Draco didn’t turn, didn’t spare him a glance.

“All lies hold some truth to them.”

“I don’t know if Cho likes me, not sure why you care though, if she did.”

Draco turned to glare at Potter but realized he had been baited when a brow arched.

“Piss off.”

Potter grinned, and it held just a bit too much smugness for his liking.

“Even if she does like me, the feelings don’t go both ways.”

“You’re right, I don’t care.”

Potter laughed, and Draco hated that, too.

“I think you do care, I think you care too much.”

“Potter—”

“You don’t have to be jealous.”

The accusation caused a gasp to escape Draco.

“That’s just a load of hogwash. I’m not jealous. You can date whoever you like.”

“So you wouldn’t care if I asked Cho out?”

Draco clenched his fists tightly before he forced himself to relax.

“Of course not, you are at liberty to be with whomever you like.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t want to be with Cho. She just wants someone to talk to, someone to listen to her feelings and confusion over Cedric.”

Draco reluctantly looked to Potter, silently willing him to continue.

“I don’t want to be with anyone right now.”

Despite the expected answer, he couldn’t help but wish there had been more, that Potter would have eluded something else.

“My life is a mess, and dating would only add to that.”

“When did you get wise?”

Potter shoved his shoulder.

“I’ve always been wise, you prat.”

Draco arched a brow in disbelief. “Tell that to your past self. I distinctly remember some of your schemes that were far from wise.”

The glare Potter sent him caused a smile to form.

“So maybe my wisdom has been shadowed before, but that doesn't mean it wasn’t there.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Potter said far too softly to take seriously.

“Because no one else will.”

Potter rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“Thank you.”

Draco hummed curiously. “For insulting you?”

“I swear I hate you,” Potter grumbled with a smile too bright. “No, you absolute tosser. Thank you for talking to Snape.”

_“Oh.”_ He fiddled with the lining of his robes instead of looking at Potter. “It was nothing.”

“No,” Potter disagreed. “It was _everything_. I know he doesn’t like me because of my father, but I just want a chance to prove myself. I’m _not_ my father.”

Potter’s words struck close to home for Draco, and he couldn’t help but feel for Potter.

“It’s not fair,” whispered Potter, tone both hard and quiet. “If he’s going to hate me, then I want it to be because of something I did, not something that happened before I was born.”

He wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure how to make Potter feel better—comfort still was hard to muster for others.

“As much as I hate the Occlumency lessons, I think I expected them to be bad. I knew going into it that they wouldn’t be what Dumbledore thought they would. But yet, I was still disappointed. Nothing I do is ever good enough for him, no amount of studying will ever make him see me as someone other than my father’s son—someone I never got to meet.

“I’m proud of who I am, proud of who my father was, even if he made mistakes—he loved me, I know he did. His actions shouldn’t be taken out on me, nor should I be held accountable. I just wish Snape could see that. If he wants to blame someone, then why can’t it be my father? Why should I be the conduit for his grudges?”

Draco moved until he could rest his head on Potter’s shoulder.

“I don’t have an answer for that,” he admitted reluctantly. “I tried to get through to him about his lessons, but I didn’t touch upon any of what you just said. I think that maybe you need to be the one to do that.”

Potter snorted, the sound half choked.

“That will never happen. The day I willingly talk to Snape about something not school related, or Dumbledore ordered, will be the day you become a Weasley.”

“Hold your tongue,” Draco snapped as Potter broke out in silent laughter and his shoulders shook.

Silence settled around them, and it was peaceful in a way that their lives weren’t.

“Dumbledore is going to teach me Occlumency instead. Snape decided it would be better off in the hands of someone less biased.”

“He actually said that?”

“No, that’s how I interpreted it.”

Draco shook his head the best he could while it was still on Potter’s shoulder.

“I don’t know how well the lessons will go with Dumbledore, he hasn’t even looked me in the eye for months, and I am still angry with him, but I know he will treat me better than Snape at least.”

Draco was curious to know what Potter meant but didn’t want to ask—it wasn’t his place.

“If you ever want to learn some practice methods with me, I am here,” Draco offered hesitantly.

When Potter’s head tilted onto his own, Draco felt at ease.

“I might just take you up on that. You teach Neville well.”

“What are you on about? You are the one with your little duelling club.”

“It’s not a duelling—wait, are you baiting—”

Draco laughed when Potter smacked his arm playfully.

“But seriously?” Potter began. “I can tell the difference when Neville takes a spell I taught him and then goes to you for further practice or help.”

“He comes to me to teach me the lessons you have taught him.”

“I like that. I still wish you could be there.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“Cryptic.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m alright with how it turned out. I enjoy how inclusive you have made it for Neville. He enjoys your lessons and has fun with the rest of your secret duelling club.”

When Potter shifted, Draco realized his words might have seemed like he had been implying something negative.

“Don’t think too hard,” Draco teased. “Neville is fine, I was just saying thank you.”

He knew that Neville had been lonely before they became friends, and Draco was a little miffed that the rest of the Gryffindors hadn’t been close with Neville, but everything worked out in the end. What they didn’t see about him was their loss.

“Maybe you can be a part of the next secret duelling club.”

Draco grinned despite himself. “I’d like that.”

Maybe he would be the one to run it, who knew?

“Potter,” Draco called out hesitantly when Potter got up to leave. “I know this won’t make much sense, and I would elaborate if I knew more, but I want to let you know that Black’s house elf has been taking orders from my father.”

Potter’s hand that had been about to pat Draco on the shoulder froze in mid air.

“What? How do you know this?”

“How do you think? I overheard Kreacher in the Manor, and he was listening to my father.”

“Do you know what kind of orders they were?”

Draco shook his head. “I only heard the end of an order calling for silence. It was clear that I wasn’t supposed to have heard it.”

The way Potter’s eyes regarded him intently unnerved Draco. He wasn’t sure what Potter was looking for. The truth? A lie?

“Thank you,” Potter finally said. “Thank you for telling me.”

He wasn’t sure it would be important in the end, but it had felt like something Potter should know. Draco just hoped nothing would come out of it in the end.

 

* * *

 

 

**Mass Breakout from Azkaban. Ministry Fears Black is “Rallying Point” For Old Death Eaters**

 

Draco choked at the title before he opened the _Daily Prophet_ intently. His stomach lurched at the report. 10 convicted inmates escaped. He read over the names with a heavy heart until he came across one that had anger mounting.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

It wasn’t a surprise, not after the other names had been mentioned. He knew from his mother that Bellatrix was high up in the Dark Lord’s circle.

The more he read, the more he grew nauseous. His fists clenched when he realized they were blaming the breakout on Black, and not even pausing to consider the possibility that something else had happened. Fudge was so blinded to reality, that the evidence of the Dark Lord’s return had been shoved to the side and buried under outlandish theories.

“Why do you look so angry?”

Draco startled before he attempted to shove the paper away.

“Did the fashion section get scrapped? I told you no one is interested in—” Neville’s breath caught and Draco closed his eyes in defeat.

“Tell me this isn’t real.”

“It’s real.”

He watched Neville’s face crumble, and he wanted to make it all go away—make it better.

“It’s not some crazy article done by the _Quibbler?_ ”

“No.”

Neville’s fingers tentatively stretched forward to take the paper, and Draco had half a mind to hold on tighter, prevent him from reading the bad news.

When Neville didn’t say anything, and just kept silent far longer than it would have taken to read the article, Draco grew concerned.

“Neville?”

“Even after Black escaped, I never stopped to consider that others might, too. Lestrange got off easy being placed in Azkaban. she and the others arrested tortured my parents, tortured them until they couldn’t function outside of St. Mungos. They deserve to rot forever.”

Draco moved closer until he could put his arms around Neville.

“It’s not fair. They shouldn’t be out free, not like this, and not while the government is going to use it as another excuse to pander their idiotic beliefs.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco whispered, unsure of what else he could say.

“I hate them.”

“I know.”

“I want to kill them.”

“I’ll help you.”

Neville laughed before he wiped his eyes. “No, you wouldn’t. Just as you know I wouldn’t actually kill anyone.”

Draco wasn’t so sure the former was true. He would have helped Neville seek justice, if it had been something he thought Neville might do.

“I’ll always support you,” he whispered. “Even if you wanna commit murder.”

“Thank you,” Neville said softly. “I hope you know I would do the same.”

Surprisingly, Draco believed him.

 

* * *

 

 

“Did you hear what Potter said?”

“You think it was true?”

“No way he fought You-Know-Who.”

“I don’t know, if anyone was going to, I’d think it would be him.”

The whispers followed Draco as he walked the halls in confusion. He had no clue what they were talking about, had the school finally wised up enough to realize Potter had been telling the truth all along?

It wasn’t until he walked into the Great Hall and took in the Gryffindor table covered in letters, and the rest of the students with copies of the _Quibbler_ that it all began to make sense.

Had Potter done an interview? Or had the _Quibbler_ made Potter into an outlandish story as they did with Black? Was Potter a lead singer, too? Or just a backup vocal?

“Draco!”

He was pulled aside by Lovegood and promptly had an edition of the _Quibbler_ shoved in front of his face.

The front cover was an older photo of Potter taken during the Triwizard Tournament, and he wondered if that was a strategic move to remind the viewers of Potter’s age during the incident.

 

    **Harry Potter Speaks Out At Last: The Truth About He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named  
                              **And The Night I Saw Him Return****

 

A slow smile formed on Draco’s face at the headline, he tucked the magazine in his robes before he thanked Lovegood.

“I knew you’d want one.”

It wasn’t until he made it to the Slytherin table that he noticed Umbridge walking between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. He couldn’t tell what was being said, but he could infer from her rigid posture and Potter’s smile that it wasn’t anything good.

He looked around the Great Hall and wasn’t surprised to see most of the students scrounging for a neighbour who might have the _Quibbler._

“Let me see,” Neville demanded before he had even sat down. “This is going to be good, I just know it.”

“And the backlash? You know there will be backlash.”

“He already faces backlash, how is this any different?”

Neville had a point—but he couldn’t help but worry anyway.

“It’s one way to get people to change their mind,” Neville continued. “I can’t imagine there will be a single student who will have not read this by the end of the week.”

As far as predictions went, Neville wasn’t wrong. Of course that was aided by Umbridge’s twenty-seventh decree, in which declared any student found in possession of the _Quibbler_ would be expelled. In his opinion, Umbridge took it to the extreme.

Was the government _that_ concerned about people having a difference of opinion? Could no one have a free thought without being shunned or made to be seen as a lunatic?

Neville’s thoughts on the article changing people’s minds seemed to be correct as well. He hadn’t seen Potter receive such a warm welcome since their third year. People stopped to talk to him, they congratulated him and as far as Draco could tell, they seemed genuine.

Well, as genuine as they could be, considering they had shunned him for the entire school year.

But it wasn’t until Draco reached the common room that he really took notice of the changes. Several students from varying years were reading the article.

“Is it true?”

Draco startled at being confronted by a first year he didn’t know.

“Did Potter _really_ fight the Dark Lord?” a seventh year called out.

“If Potter can win, then—”

“Oi, hold your tongue.”

He looked around as they all began arguing and vying for his attention.

“It doesn’t matter what I tell you. You are either going to ignore it, or take it at face value. Come to your own conclusions and leave me be.”

A few older students nodded, but Draco had known all along they didn't _actually_ want his opinion, they had only been looking for a reason to go against him. It was smart on their end, but Draco hadn’t chosen a wand yesterday—they’d have to try harder than that to get to him.

When Draco pushed passed them and entered his dorm, he wasn’t surprised to see it occupied, nor was he surprised to see them reading the article too.

No questions were brought up, no insults, jabs or mutterings were said, and that alone confused Draco. It wasn’t like any of them to remain quiet—at least when they held such strong opinions.

Despite the lack of noise, he could feel their stares on him, but he wasn’t going to disrupt the calm. Sometimes, the absence of something was preferable.

As Draco listened to the pages of the _Quibbler_ being flipped, the soft noises of shuffling and a few interested noises, he wondered if Potter could change their minds as well.

It was worth a shot.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m never going to get this,” complained Neville as he threw himself on the floor of the Room of Requirement.

“Quit being dramatic, that’s my thing.”

Neville glared halfheartedly as he began to play with the cushion behind his head.

“The hexes were easy, the intermediate jinxes only took a little bit of practice, and the shields were a breeze. So _why_ can’t I get this?”

Draco shoved Neville a bit until he could fit his head on the pillow as well.

“Well, it’s rather advanced, isn’t it? Some N.E.W.T. level students don’t even practice the Patronus Charm.”

He was impressed that Potter could not only perform a Patronus, but that it was fully fledged and not just non-corporeal.

“I suppose so.”

“And you have a non-corporeal patronus as it is, that’s still impressive. You’ve only been practicing for a few weeks.”

Neville rolled on his side and peered down at Draco.

“Yeah, but I want to progress faster. I want to make a dent in all of this while there’s still time.”

“Time?” Draco asked as he, too, rolled on his side. “What’s going on in your head? What are you worried about?”

Neville shrugged once, eyes not meeting Draco’s.

“With the breakout, the disappearances and even the deaths, things are getting serious, and I want to be ready. I want to be able to make a difference.”

“You already do make a difference.”

Neville smiled softly, eyes still downward.

“You are biased, you have to say that.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

When Neville looked up, Draco relaxed at the calm expression on his face. He knew that Neville would be just fine.

“Why won’t you practice with me?”

Draco laid down on his back as he refused to meet Neville’s eyes.

“I’m not Light enough for a Patronus.”

“That’s rubbish.”

The anger in Neville’s tone might have been comforting another time, but Draco wasn’t feeling it.

“Statistics show that wizards and witches who are predominantly Dark in their magic can’t produce a patronus past a wispy puff of silver.”

“And you think that is you?”

Draco shrugged once, uncomfortable with the conversation altogether.

“You have to know that isn’t true.”

“Neville,” he began with a heavy sigh. “Do you realize the kind of secondhand magic I have been exposed to growing up? Even if _I_ haven’t performed a lot of Dark Magic, it still left a residue, it still left pieces that my core has been around for so long.”

“I think you are seeing what isn’t there.”

Draco’s forehead wrinkled. “Why does that sound like something Lovegood would say?”

When Neville flushed, Draco sat up quickly.

“No way.”

Neville shook his head. “It’s not like—”

“No way,” he repeated with a breathy whisper. “I was right.”

“Rare occurrences can happen, yes.”

Draco smacked Neville’s arm as he grinned.

“So you and Lovegood, huh?”

“We are just friends,” argued Neville, but his ears were red and Draco was suspicious.

“For now, maybe,” Draco conceded with a shrug. “But when you get married, I’m going to tell every guest that I was right and that I knew this would happen.”

Neville rolled his eyes and shoved Draco hard enough that he toppled over.

“Enough of me. Let’s talk about how you are mental.”

“I’ve heard worse insults, that won’t get to me.”

“Draco.” The long-suffering sigh had Draco smirking at the ceiling. “Just forget about everything else and just try, alright? Try and do a patronus.”

Draco wanted to listen to Neville, wanted to pull out his wand and practice right along with him—but he couldn’t, couldn’t shake the negative aspect of his mind that told him he wasn’t allowed.

“I can’t.”

The silence that followed wasn’t comforting, and it made Draco feel worse, but he wasn’t going to change his mind.

“I’m not ready.”

Neville sighed, the sound not pleased but also not annoyed.

“Alright, but that doesn’t mean you get to get out of helping me.”

Draco sat up and crossed his legs as he gestured for Neville to get on with it.

“Alright, I’ll help you. Get to work.”

“Well now, you just sound like an autocrat.”

“I _have_ always wanted power.”

Neville grumbled inaudibly. “I knew I should have asked Harry for extra lessons.”

“You wound me,” Draco said as he clutched his heart. “I’m your loving best friend, who would sacrifice the world for you and here you are—”

“Shut it,” Neville said with a laugh. “You are too much. Just help me.”

“Alright, alright.” Draco narrowed his eyes and watched the way Neville held his posture, and how his breathing regulated. “Show me what you got.”

_“Expecto Patronum!”_

A silvery, wispy blob shot out of Neville’s wand, and Draco felt the magic of the spell sooth his mood.

_“Argh!”_ Neville bellowed as he ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what I am doing wrong.”

Draco instructed him to do the spell several more times, and he made sure to watch his wrist movements, pronunciation, and even his breath intake.

“Spell wise, your stance and everything external is fine,” Draco concluded with a thoughtful hum. “That means it’s the requirements of the spell internally that needs working on.”

“What does that mean?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “The memory, you dolt. Whatever memory you are using to fuel the spell isn’t good enough.”

“Oh.” Neville scratched the side of his temple. “But that can’t be right. I used a happy memory.”

“Well—”

“I used one of us.”

Draco’s breath caught in his throat and he looked up at Neville with wide eyes.

“Why are you so surprised?” Neville’s tone held a touch of defensiveness. “Now who is the dolt? You _are_ my best friend.”

“Well,” Draco began, a nervous energy to him that he wasn’t used to. “Well, maybe you need a better one.”

Neville shrugged and closed his eyes in what Draco assumed was concentration.

It took several more attempts, six more memory changes and a full hour before Neville’s patronus retained some kind of shape.

“Looks like a snail.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Draco argued with a sneer. “It’s far too big.”

“Then you guess, you arse.”

“I think it’s a crup.”

“Rather small for a crup,” Neville said with pinched brows and a small frown.

“Then maybe it’s an owl?”

“No wings for an owl, can’t you tell?”

“Eat dung.”

Neville chuckled, but it quickly turned into loud guffaws.

“It’s an improvement, whatever it is,” Neville said happily as he clapped his hands. His expression turned soft when he looked up at Draco.

“Thank you.”

Draco wrapped an arm around Neville’s shoulder.

“Anytime.”

And he meant that. He would be there for Neville no matter what.

Always.

 

* * *

 

 

The aftermath of Dumbledore’s departure from the school was all Draco had to go on. The rumours were insane. Anything from Dumbledore muggle punching Fudge in the face before disapparating away, to Umbridge screaming for Dementors as Dumbledore set fire to his own office.

The only actual proof that there was to go on was that a Ravenclaw student turned in Potter’s group to Umbridge, and that had somehow led to Dumbledore leaving Hogwarts and Umbridge to take over as Headmistress.

The only people who had been in Dumbledore’s office weren’t talking, and he wondered if that was due to Umbridge. Was she mad that Dumbledore had slipped through? Or was she embarrassed?

“I miss Dumbledore.”

“Do you? We haven’t even seen him in months.”

“Yeah, but he’s better than toad-face.”

Draco couldn’t shake the whisperers, they followed him everywhere. Speculations that were outlandish, and the decrees that Umbridge kept tacking to the walls.

Was it necessary to have a decree that named her as the Headmistress—as if anyone could _forget_?

The overall opinion of most was that Dumbledore would be back at some point. Evidence of the past supported that, but Draco wasn’t sure how that would happen with Fudge as Minister and Umbridge as his loyal lackey.

The _Daily Prophet_ had covered the change, and of course it all showed the Ministry in a positive light while still shunning Dumbledore.

Many people received letters from parents that urged them to remain on their best behaviour. Neville had been sent a letter from Augusta saying under no circumstances would she tolerate him giving in to a wretched witch, something that surprised the both of them. It had been the first time Neville had been proud of his grandmother.

Draco had received a simple note from his father telling him to offer any aid he could to Umbridge—fat chance of that.

“Mister Malfoy,” Umbridge called at the end of the next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. “Stay behind for me, won’t you?”

Draco shared a look with Neville before he stood up and waited for the lingering students at the door to leave.

“I wondered if you hadn’t seen the latest Educational Decree.”

Oh, he had, he just ignored it. Most of his housemates from 5th year and up had joined her group. They paraded around the common room drunk on borrowed power.

“Fudge has allowed me to form a group of well-behaved students with bright futures who are loyal to the Ministry. The Inquisitorial Squad.”

She looked at him expectantly when he said nothing. Her smile dimmed, and she began to rifle through her drawers.

“I have your father’s assurance that you would be willing to join, and I thank you for that. We need students from backgrounds such as yours to—”

“I think there has been a mistake,” Draco interrupted with a smile that he hoped came across as fake as it was. “You see, I didn’t want to join.”

“Pardon me?” A false high-pitched giggle was released and Draco wanted to cover his ears.

“The Inquisitorial Squad isn’t for me.”

“And why not?” Her tone was no longer polite and her fingers were clenched, causing her to crinkle a few letters in her hands.

“I’m rather busy with school work as it is, not to mention studying for the upcoming O.W.L.s, they are right around the corner and I would like to focus on my future.”

Umbridge’s eyes narrowed, and her beady eyes made him nauseous.

“Are you sure this is a stance you wish to take? I will have to send this back to your father.”

Draco took a deep breath, that had been expected after all.

“I sincerely hope so.”

When her mouth parted, he knew she would understand what he was implying. Her face twisted into an expression he had only seen her use when speaking to Potter.

“This disappoints me.”

Draco couldn’t have been more enthused at the prospect.

“Sorry, ma'am.” He hoped she could see through the lie as easily as she had before.

“If that is all, I must return to my studies.”

She waved him away with a disgusted noise and promptly pulled out parchment to furiously write on.

As he left her office and walked down the hall, he went over all the recent changes. It wasn’t just the school that had changed, and soon enough, Draco would be able to show how much he had changed as well.

Time would tell, and he couldn’t wait to see where it took him.

 

* * *

 

 

The calm that had settled had disappeared quickly.

“I’m telling you, set them off in the Great Hall.”

“Are you stupid? That’s not going to be big enough. Too confined.”

“Yeah, but if you don’t have some restrictions they’ll get lost.”

A not so quiet conversation had Draco stopping in front of a classroom with the door open a crack.

“What if we—”

“No, George.”

“You didn’t even hear what I said.”

“I didn’t need to to know it would’ve been garbage.”

Draco pushed the door open further, the action caused a small creak that drew the attention of the Weasley twins.

“Little Malfoy.”

“Will you quit calling me that?”

There was a shared look before they grinned widely.

“Not a chance,” they both said in unison.

He huffed slightly before he looked around curiously. The classroom they were in was old and unused, not the best spot for whatever mischief they were up to.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, unable to stop himself.

Identical brows arched, and he wondered if that was something they practiced.

Draco opened his mouth to tell them that he had overheard them arguing, but before he could, they turned their backs on him and began whispering—loudly.

“What do you think? Think we can trust him?”

“I don’t see why not, Harry does.”

“Yeah, but Harry isn’t always the brightest.”

Draco had to bite his lip to stop from snorting.

“We can just be vague. It’s not like we have to tell him that we’re pranking Umbridge.”

“You’re pranking Umbridge?” asked Draco as his eyes widened. What a power move.

They turned around suddenly with narrowed eyes.

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“You weren’t exactly being quiet! What was I supposed to do? Tune you out?”

One of the twins—George, no Fred—nodded.

“That would have been polite.”

“When am I ever polite?”

Two hums could be heard before he watched them look at each other.

“He’s got a fair point, Fred.”

“Alright,” they both began. “We _may_ have something planned in about five minutes that _may_ disrupt lessons, and it _may_ impact Umbridge’s day.”

Draco shook his head incredulously, there weren’t many people willing to do something so drastic—leave it to a Gryffindor.

“And what can I do to help?”

When they grinned widely and full of mischief, he wondered if he had made a mistake.

“So, little Malfoy—” they ignored his grumbled complaints. “—we have created our very own brand of Fireworks.”

One wave of a wand and a dramatic flash of smoke later, Draco stared down at an outrageously large pile of fireworks. He picked up a large pink Catherine wheel and let out an impressive whistle—it was at least five feet in diameter.

“Are they similar to Dr. Filibuster?”

George—possibly Fred, clutched his chest and let out a gasp.

“That is insulting. Ours are far superior.”

“Prove it.”

They smirked, and Draco decided that that was honestly scary.

“We haven’t decided where to set them off. _I_ said in the Great Hall—”

“Yes, I heard your argument,” Draco interrupted. He ignored the way they glared darkly.

“Why not light them off in the corridors?”

One of the twins—Draco wasn’t sure who—cupped their chin while the other twin hummed thoughtfully.

“Keep going.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s confined enough that the fireworks won’t get loose and disappear into a wider space, but it’s also big enough that Umbridge will have trouble getting to them. At least not with how many floors and hallways there are.”

When they said nothing and only stared, Draco became nervous.

“If you let them off on different floors at different times during the day, you might even get a chance for a few to enter classrooms. Why stop at only bothering Umbridge?”

“I could kiss you.”

Draco spluttered as he felt his cheeks heat up. The offer didn’t seem genuine, but it wasn’t the first time they had flirted with him. Before he could say something, a hand smacked the back of possibly George’s head.

“He is fifteen, Fred. _Fifteen_.”

Fred glared at George as he gingerly rubbed the spot that had been smacked.

“So, I won’t kiss you.”

Thank Merlin for small miracles.

“But,” Fred began with a wink. “Find me when you are seventeen.”

“That’s not happening.” Draco shook his head firmly.

Draco arched a brow when Fred sighed heavily.

George threw several fireworks in the air before he pulled out his wand and levitated them out into the corridor where they lit on fire and chaos ensued.

Screams could be heard as one of the Dragon Fireworks roared loudly and flames burst outward.

“This is going to be good,” Draco whispered as he closed the door when he could hear the sound of feet thundering by.

“Hurry, Filch, hurry!” Umbridge yelled, the sound muffled from behind the door. “They’ll be all over the school unless we do something— _Stupefy!_ ”

“What happens she does that?” Draco asked, there _had_ to be something, it was the Weasley twins after all.

Fred opened his mouth, but a large explosion caused Draco to reach for something to keep him upright.

“ _That_ happens.”

“Impressive.”

Fred and George puffed out their chests.

“What happens if she Vanishes them?” That would have been his first thought if things had been reversed.

“They multiply by ten.”

“Brilliant.” Draco had never seen someone so young be so smart when it came to the things the Weasley twins were capable of. If he didn’t know any better, he would think that they would have done well in Slytherin.

The sound of the doorknob turning had them all exchanging a panicked look. Fred raised his wand, and Draco snorted despite the situation—was he going to stun Umbridge if it was her?

They all relaxed when Potter’s ugly mop of hair was seen before the rest of him.

“I figured you both would be nearby—” Potter cut off when he caught sight of Draco.

“Malfoy, what—” Potter looked between the three of them with pinched brows.

Fred and George wrapped an arm around him and sandwiched him between them.

“We’ve stolen your boyfriend.”

Draco elbowed them both as Potter’s face turned an unattractive shade of red and he jerked out of their hold.

“He’s not—”

“We’re not—”

Fred smiled, the action far too innocent to be real.

“So you _are_ single, then?”

Draco turned to Potter. “I swear if you don’t lie, I will hex you and then feed you to Umbridge.”

A startled noise left Potter, but Draco didn’t stop to care before he edged closer to him.

Several explosions and a few startled cries outside drew their attention, and Draco had never been more relieved in his life.

“How long will they last?”

“Until she figures out how to get rid of them.” George’s tone was rather proud.

“So, not for at least a week,” Fred surmised with a happy hum.

“As fascinating as all of this is,” Draco drawled as he straightened his robes. “I’ll leave them in your capable hands, Potter.”

“I meant what I said,” Fred yelled as Draco placed a hand on the knob. “Find me when you are seventeen.”

“Oi!” Potter said, and Draco could hear some kind of shuffling behind him, but he wasn't going to look.

It wasn’t until he stepped into the corridor that he caved. He looked behind him to see Potter with a slight pout. He sent him a wink, and couldn’t help but smile at the way it changed Potter’s entire demeanour.

Perhaps the fireworks weren’t the only good thing that had happened that day.

 

* * *

 

 

**Dear Cousin,**

_The Dark Lord has asked me to loan him my family house elf, Kreacher. This does not bode well._

_What you have to realize is that the Dark Lord does not value the life of anyone but his own. He will parade around the belief that those who follow blood purity are the only ones worth a spot in his new society, but he doesn’t truly believe that._

_I have witnessed firsthand how he treats those in his service, those who are beneath him, and those who command his respect. The Dark Lord does not care about anyone unless they can serve his agenda in some way, and when they are no longer useful, he gets rid of them._

_Kreacher being requested does not make sense. If it was grunt work, the Dark Lord would have asked for a Death Eater. I fear that whatever he has planned will kill my elf. It is not out of the realm of possibilities to think that the Dark Lord will see Kreacher as expendable, a life worth giving up in the name of the bigger picture._

_I was not told where Kreacher would be taken to, I was not told what would happen, I was told nothing._

_As far as means of protection, there is little I can do for Kreacher. I can’t order him to Apparate out of danger, nor can I order him to disobey the Dark Lord. The only thing I can do is tell him to come to me when the Dark Lord no longer needs him._

_It’s not much, but it was the only thing I had. I fear for him, cousin. I wish I could have gone with them._

_The Dark Lord was in a good mood when he arrived, and that alone has heightened my anxiety. If you recall my last letter, he was distracted, and his mood has changed drastically. Whatever he had been after has clearly been found._

_But how does that involve Kreacher? What use could a house elf be for the Dark Lord? Nothing good, I assure you._

_Pardon me if have rambled. There is too many theories in my mind and voicing them has always been a help to me._

_Only, I have no one to voice them to._

_I will keep you updated. I do hope you are faring well. As always, you are in my thoughts._

 

**Love,**

**Regulus**

 

* * *

 

 

Draco’s eyes were wide by the time he finished the letter. Kreacher? What use would the Dark Lord have for a house elf? The fact that Regulus had been worried, caused Draco to become worried.

What had happened?

He slumped down until the letter fell to the floor and he could cover his face with his hands. Just once, he wanted to be able to _talk_ to Regulus. He wanted to ask him questions, voice his own worries and just meet the person who had changed so much of his life.

What had the Dark Lord been happy about? What had happened?

Kreacher was still alive, that much Draco knew. Was it somehow related to Kreacher listening to his father’s orders? Was Kreacher still employed by the Dark Lord, even if by distance?

Part of him wanted to ask Kreacher, summon him, but he knew that wouldn’t be wise—especially if his father’s orders were taken seriously.

Draco felt helpless, which was silly considering it had already happened, there was no need to worry over the past. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from wishing Regulus well, even though he knew it would all end. One day, there would be no more letters; an end that he prayed wouldn’t come soon.

 

* * *

 

 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Draco said as he sat next to Potter on the log in their usual spot by the lake. “But with Dumbledore gone, I suppose your lessons have been put on hold.”

Potter’s hands clenched and Draco looked at him in alarm.

“Before Dumbledore left, he told Snape that should he disappear, that Snape was to take over my lessons.”

A low whistle escaped Draco.

“I take it the lessons are as they were before?”

“Yes—no, I don’t know.” Potter’s shoulders slumped and a confused expression morphed his features.

“It was tense at first, that’s a given, but he was a bit calmer. At least until—” A sheepish shrug paused Potter’s retelling. “—It’s my fault, really. Before the lessons he always empties memories in a pensive, and I got too curious.”

“Potter,” Draco sighed. Severus was a private person, invading something as personal as a _memory_ would have been unforgivable in Severus’ eyes.

“I know, you don’t have to lecture me. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Is that what upsets you? Did he react badly?”

Potter laughed humorlessly. “Oh he reacted about as well as I expected him to, but no that’s not what is bothering me.”

When Potter didn’t continue, Draco urged him with a hand.

“Snape is _always_ talking about my father. He takes great pleasure in telling me how arrogant he was, how full of himself he was, and how awful he had been.”

“But keep in mind the narrator, Potter,” said Draco, far gentler than he thought was necessary. “Snape holds grudges. What he says comes from a place of anger, and that must be considered when it comes to whether you believe him.”

“That’s what I always thought—what I have always done. But the memory I saw, it wasn’t good.”

Draco hummed curiously. “How so?”

Potter closed his eyes tightly.

“My father bullied him. Not just with words either. And the worst thing is that Snape wasn’t even doing anything. They targeted him because they were bored.”

A frustrated growl left Potter. “What kills me is everything I felt during the memory. I have never felt sorry for Snape, ever, but he didn’t deserve that. I don’t like feeling empathy for him, but yet I am. I hate that.”

Draco let out an exhale as he nodded in understanding. Finding humanity in those you oppose would be a wakeup call. He wasn’t sure what he would have thought about finding a compassion for someone like his father after holding a grudge for so long.

“So you were shown a side of your father you didn’t think existed?”

A jerky nod could be seen before Potter ran a hand through his hair.

“Sirius talks about my father as if he was the greatest person he had ever known. Remus’ voice is always filled with a fondness when my father is brought up. Teachers and even strangers praise my father, and yet, I saw something horrible.”

Draco bit his lip as he debated whether or not to offer his opinion, parents were a sensitive subject for some people.

“How old was he?”

“Fifteen. Our age. My father was a bloody bully.”

“I used to be a bully.”

Potter’s head snapped up. “Yeah, but you changed.”

When Draco arched a brow, Potter raised both hands and continued to talk.

“You have shown over and over how changed you are.”

“And who’s to say your father didn’t do the same?” Draco asked gently. “I can’t condemn him for being a bully, that would make me a hypocrite. Nor can I offer an opinion on whether he truly changed or not. Everyone’s path to change is different. What I did might not be the same thing your father did. It depends on the person and whether they truly mean it.”

Potter’s brows were furrowed, and he had a heavy frown on his face.

“You think he changed?”

Draco shrugged once. “I don’t know. I would like to think he did. I would like to think that all bullies grow up at some point.”

When Potter’s brows continued to furrow to the point of them merging together, Draco patted him on the shoulder.

“Perhaps you should ask Black and Lupin about it. They would know how he had changed better than anyone else. They might even know his methods, but at least they’ll be able to answer your questions.”

“I suppose so. I’m just angry, angry with them too.”

“Being angry isn’t a bad thing, you know,” Draco said with a small smile. “It’s just as valid as being happy. Emotions are meant to ground you. They are meant to help you cope with your surroundings.”

“Have you been reading behavioural books again?”

“Piss off,” Draco said with a laugh as he shoved Potter. “I’m trying to help you, you prat.”

Potter smiled, perhaps not as bright as Draco was used to, but it was enough.

“You are helping, you know? I didn’t want to think rationally, which is why I came here. I knew you wouldn’t let me get too far into my own mind.”

He wasn’t so sure he had done _all_ of that, but it was nice that Potter had come to him at all.

“Do you think anyone can change?” Potter asked, his voice soft and curious.

Draco exhaled loudly as he thought it over. “I think that anyone can change if they _want_ to. It’s not as simple as recognizing faults. You really have to _mean_ it, have to actively seek change, and you have to _want_ it.”

Potter tilted his head and eyed him with a quirk of his lips, and Draco wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Change isn’t exclusive,” Draco continued. “It _is_ something you have to work at though, actively. Depending on what someone is changing, it could be something that has to be constantly in the forefront of one’s mind. Some change will always need to be addressed.”

“Like what?”

“Well, take me for example. I was raised with bigoted notions, ideals that hurt others, and blood purity politics. That’s not something that I can just acknowledge and move on, that’s not something I get to see and just say I have changed. Those kinds of problems are something I deal with every day.”

“What do you mean?” Potter asked, his head tilted, and his hair blew in the breeze.

Draco rubbed the back of his neck. No one had ever talked to him about his mistakes, it was vulnerable, and he didn’t like it.

“I have to unteach myself the things that I was brought up with. It’s not easy to take something that has been taught my whole life and just stop believing it, or to change my mentality. Learning to be a better person is not a one time instance, it’s a daily experience, and I will always seek change, always try and better myself.”

“I think that’s admirable.”

“I think you should save your admiration for those that never had to change.”

Potter narrowed his eyes, and Draco fought the urge to shift uneasily. “You don’t think you deserve praise?”

“For learning how to not be a bigoted blood purist? No. I don’t deserve praise for learning how to be a decent human being.”

“Malfoy,” Potter sighed, frustration evident.

“Being a good person isn’t limited to those who have never messed up. The idea that you can’t be a good person after making mistakes is flawed. Your change deserves to be acknowledged.”

“Acknowledge it, but don’t praise it,” Draco begged. “I want you to see how far I have come, but I don’t want you to praise something that I should have done all along.”

Potter still looked unhappy, but he didn’t argue, and Draco was thankful for that.

“One of these days, I’m going to convince you that you are one of the good guys.”

A startled laugh left Draco, and he couldn’t help the fond smile that crept up.

“One of these days, I might let you.”

 

* * *

 

 

With O.W.L.s right around the corner, it wasn’t uncommon to see panicked students roaming the halls screaming, fainting, or even crying. Draco had become desensitized to the whole thing.

So when Greengrass entered the common room crying, he assumed it was about her studies.

“Snape said I didn’t have the scores to become a curse-breaker.”

“You haven’t even taken runes,” Pansy pointed out with a smirk. “And don’t you have a T in Defence Against the Dark Arts?”

Greengrass glared as she wiped her eyes. “You know I raised it to a D.”

As if that was any better. Draco shook his head and tried to get back to studying Arithmancy.

“What did Snape tell you, Draco?”

Draco looked up and smiled in a way he hoped came off as fake. By the way Pansy narrowed her eyes, he was pretty sure he had accomplished that.

“He said I have the scores to do whatever I want.”

It hadn’t exactly gone that way. Draco had told him that he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do outside of Hogwarts. That seemed so far away, what with the war happening, and his family issues, a career seemed years away. But Severus had urged him to think on what he wanted to do, and not let other things stand in the way of his future, and his scores were good enough to give him a head start in a wide variety of jobs.

Draco still hadn’t decided what he wanted to do. Maybe something in Potions? Or perhaps teaching? He wasn’t sure he had the patience to teach others, but maybe it could be something learned. There were a lot of options open for him, he just had to really think about it.

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Yes, because you are just _so_ perfect.”

“That is something I have never said about myself nor will you hear me do so.”

“You certainly act like it,” Theo said as he breezed into the room and sat on the couch with a grace expected of him.

Draco wasn’t sure where they misunderstood him enough to think that _he_ thought he was perfect. They clearly hadn’t paid enough attention.

“No one is perfect. Not your parents, not the Dark Lord, not Dumbledore and not even Merlin. Everyone is flawed, it’s what you do with those imperfections that matter.”

He stood up and gathered his books, maybe he should have stuck to the library after all.

“What about Potter?” Blaise yelled, and Draco froze at the entrance. “What about him?”

Without turning around, Draco let out a soft whisper, “His imperfections are what make him who he is. He’s not perfect either.”

Draco rather liked Potter’s imperfections—liked them a lot; liked him a lot.

 

* * *

 

 

The exit of the Weasley twins was something Draco knew he would always remember. Not only had they made a swamp of the corridors, they had also flown out of the castle on their brooms, but not before throwing out another round of fireworks.

Draco had looked around the chaos of students cheering, teachers attempting to get order and Umbridge who did nothing except scream in outrage.

Before they left, Fred had looked back to give Draco a wink, and Draco hadn’t bothered to hide a smile. Weasleys were trouble, that much he had always known, but those two were a different kind of trouble—and Draco kind of liked that about them. Fred just needed to be knocked down a peg or two.

The days after their departure were just as hectic as if they had never left. Several students stepped up in an attempt to replace the Weasley twins. The pranks weren’t nearly as good, but it kept Umbridge busy, and that was always fun to watch. The teachers seemed to ignore it for the most part, and it had him curious as to whether the students or the teachers hated her more.

The atmosphere helped calm a lot of the stress surrounding their examinations. An influx of students fainting were expected, but overall Draco was surprised he wasn't as stressed as other students. Perhaps it was the hours he had spent studying, the years of good grades, or the knowledge that school paled in comparison to the true horrors of the world that led to a lack of worry over the results.

When it came to the actual examinations, he was fairly confident he would receive passing scores in all of the O.W.L.s. Due to Neville being in Potter’s secret duelling club and their practice sessions, Draco knew Defence Against the Dark Arts would be one of his higher scores of the year.

As he finished up his own test, a silver light caused him to pause to look around curiously.

Draco grinned when a small Capuchin monkey floated near his knees. He looked up and his grin grew wider when he realized it was Neville’s Patronus. He had never been as proud of another person as he was in that moment.

“Hi, little one,” Draco whispered to the Patronus that was slowly moving upward as if climbing up his body. “I wish you could give your caster a message for me. I want you to let him know how proud I am of him.”

Draco didn’t think Patronuses were sentient, but the monkey’s head bobbed in a way that resembled a nod. He felt warmth near the monkey, a warmth that felt like being embraced in Neville’s hugs. He wanted to keep the Patronus.

When the Patronus faded, Draco sighed in disappointment. But as he looked at the bright grin Neville sent him, he understood exactly where that warmth had come from.

“That was spectacular, wasn’t it?” His examiner said, voice excited and their hands clapped together for emphasis.

“Yeah, he is, isn’t he?”

Overall, his O.W.L.s had gone well. He hadn’t been there to see McGonagall take on four stunners to the chest during the Astronomy examination, but he had heard about it. That seemed to be the only examination that had been disturbed.

At least until History of Magic.

As Draco watched Potter fall to the floor with a hand clutched to his head and his mouth open in a blood curdling scream, he knew something bad had happened, something that would change _everything_.

The examiner rushed forward and helped guide Potter into a sitting position, but Draco couldn’t hear what had been said. It was obvious by the way Potter shook his head that he was declining further assistance, either to the hospital wing or something else.

When Potter stood up and rushed out of the room, Draco wanted to follow.

“Ten more minutes. Do try and focus.”

The last remaining minutes felt longer than the full hour they had already taken. He stared down at the parchment, his eyes unseeing and not focused on the words.

Had the Dark Lord done something to him? Was that possible? Was it what Potter meant when he had been worried about the things in his head? Could the Dark Lord mess with Potter’s head? Was it something that went both ways?

Those were the questions he wanted to answer, not stupid ones regarding Goblin Wars or whatever else he was supposed to be working on.

“Time’s up.”

Draco grabbed his bag and rushed out of the room. He tried to push his way through the crowd to see if perhaps Potter had stuck around, but it didn’t appear he had.

It wasn’t until he saw Weasley’s hideous but useful bright hair that he relaxed and followed them down the hall and into an empty classroom.

“Are you alright? Are you ill?” Granger’s voice could be heard as he pushed open the door.

Potter had tensed but quickly relaxed when he saw Draco.

“Are you okay?” Draco asked as he ignored Granger and Weasley—he still wasn’t as comfortable around them as he’d like to be.

Potter shook his head as he looked between them all.

“Voldemort has Sirius.”

Draco looked to the side in time to see Weasley and Granger exchange a look.

“What?” Granger asked finally when the silence had stretched.

“How do you know—”

“I just saw it, when I fell asleep during the exam.”

Draco furrowed his brows as his mind tried to think quickly.

“You fell asleep, actually fell asleep?”

“I would’ve had to, what does that matter?” The irritation in Potter’s voice was something Draco wasn’t used to, but he ignored it.

“So then, you aren’t sure?”

“Malfoy,” Potter sighed.

“No,” Granger said with a tilt of her head. “It’s a valid question. All of your dreams before have happened when you were _actually_ asleep.”

Dreams? Was that why Potter had needed Occlumency?

“I don’t know why I saw it, I just know that I did,” Potter stressed, his hand in his hair and the other fisted in his robes.

“He’s in the Ministry. There’s a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls, and they’re at the end of row ninety-seven. He’s trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there. I think he’s torturing him, he said he’ll end up killing him.”

Weasley let out a curse and Granger looked close to tears, but Draco was only confused.

“Do you mean the Hall of Prophecies?”

Three sets of eyes looked at him, and he had to fight the urge to shift restlessly.

“You know the place?” There was relief in Potter’s tone, but Draco knew it wouldn’t last.

“My grandfather, Abraxas, had a prophecy made about him. My father likes to go down there to look at it, even though he can’t touch it.”

“What do you mean?” Granger asked, a curious glint to her tone.

“Does it matter?” asked Potter incredulously. “Sirius needs our help!”

“I don’t think he does.”

Potter narrowed his eyes at Draco, and he knew he would have to choose his words carefully.

“Prophecies can only be touched by those who they are about,” Draco explained in a rush when Potter looked upset. “My father can’t touch the one made about my grandfather. It doesn’t matter that he is his next of kin. The spells protect against it.”

“So?” Potter’s hands were raised in frustration and it reminded Draco exactly _why_ Potter wasn’t at the top of their classes.

“If the Dark Lord is seeking a prophecy made about him, then Black _can’t_ retrieve it for him. Don’t you see?”

“What if it’s about Sirius?” Weasley asked as he scratched his head.

“Thank you, Ron,” Potter said in an overly kind manner.

“It’s not,” Draco said firmly. “I used to accompany my father when he would go to the Hall of Prophecies and my mother’s maiden name is Black. The only Black that has a prophecy is Arcturus Black, who died prematurely at 58, one day after the prophecy was made.”

“Then Voldemort must have Sirius for another reason.”

Draco had never been on the receiving end of Potter’s stubborn nature, and he hated it.

“That doesn’t fit what you said.”

“I know but Sirius is there, and we need to save him.”

“Harry,” Granger said softly, as if she was afraid he would grow angry with her. “How would Voldemort get into the Ministry without anybody realizing he was there?”

“How should I know?” Potter nearly shouted. “The question isn’t how he got there, it’s how _we’re_ getting to him.”

Draco arched his brows as Granger tried to explain how that wouldn’t make sense, that the Ministry would be filled with hundreds of employees.

“It’s always been empty when I’ve been there.”

“But Harry, you’ve never been there,” Granger said, voice still soft. “You’ve only dreamed about the place, that’s all.”

“They aren’t normal dreams, Hermione!” Potter’s voice increased in volume and his hands started to shake. “How do you explain Ron’s dad, then? What about that? I knew what had happened to him.”

Draco took a step forward as he held up his hands in a placating manner.

“What do you mean? You dream things?”

Potter jerked his head in a rude gesture of a nod.

“Is this why you were told to learn Occlumency?”

Another jerk of his head, and Draco wanted to throttle him.

“Did you know that Legilimency can be used in dreams?”

Potter’s anger dissipated enough that Draco could see actual concern in his eyes.

“If you aren’t using Occlumency shields in your sleep, or at the very least emptying your mind, then you are susceptible for Legilimency.” Draco paused to frown as his explanation didn’t make sense. “Usually, the caster has to be in the general facility, so I am unsure how the Dark Lord could have done anything, unless—” He cut off when the three of them shared a very telling look.

“Unless there’s a connection,” Draco finished. He knew he had guessed correctly when Potter wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“None of that matters.”

“I disagree,” Draco argued. “If the Dark Lord can affect your dreams, then they aren’t real in the context of it being a dream. He’s showing you what he wants you to see. Whether it’s happening or not.”

“But if he really does have Sirius, then I can’t do nothing,” Potter mumbled quietly.

“It just seems so unlikely,” Granger added. “How could Voldemort have gotten hold of Sirius when he’s been in Grimmauld Place all this time?”

Weasley tilted his head and let out a small hum. “He might’ve cracked and wanted some fresh air.”

“But why would Voldemort want Sirius to get something that Sirius can’t even get in the first place?”

“There could be loads of reasons,” Potter exploded, hands in the air. Draco rather thought he was grasping at nothing.

“You know what,” Weasley whispered, voice awed. “I just thought of something. Sirius’ brother was Death Eater, wasn’t he?”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat and he felt the breath leave him in a noisy exhale.

“What if he told Sirius the secret of how to get the weapon.”

“Don’t,” Dracos said, his voice came out cold and he watched them all flinch in surprise. “Don’t speak of things you don’t understand.”

Weasley blinked rapidly, eyes full of confusion and a frown on his face. “What are you on about?”

“None of this is making any sense,” Granger cried loudly. “There is no proof that Sirius is at the Ministry.”

“But Harry has seen it,” Weasley argued.

“No,” Draco and Granger said in unison. He gestured for her to finish.

“All we know is that Voldemort has the potential to send things to Harry. For all we know it’s a ploy to get you there.”

“If Sirius _is_ there, then who cares if it’s a ploy as long as we can save him?” Harry said with pinched brows as his fingers jerked against his robes in a jittery manner.

“Sirius told you that there was nothing more important than learning to close your mind.”

“Well,” Potter yelled loudly, and Draco found it a bit barbaric. “I expect he’d say something different now, wouldn’t he?”

The classroom door opened and they all whipped around rapidly, hands trying to pull out wands.

“I thought I heard Harry yelling.”

Draco smiled at Luna and Neville as they entered the room.

“What were you yelling about?” Neville asked curiously.

“Never you mind.” Potter’s tone was short and clipped.

Neville arched his brows. “No need to talk to me like that. I was just wondering whether I could help.”

“Well, you can’t.”

A small frown formed on Luna’s face. “You are being rather rude, you know. I don’t think it’s a Nargle either.”

Potter swore before he turned to the side and effectively shutting her out of the group.

“Wait,” Granger said suddenly. “Harry they can help.”

Draco wondered how that was possible if Potter was too thick to listen to reason.

“We need to establish whether Sirius really has left headquarters.”

“I told you, I saw it.”

“Harry, please,” Granger begged. “Let’s just see if he’s there before you concoct a plan to get to the Ministry.”

“And if he’s not?”

“Then we’ll go with you,” Draco said softly. “At least I will.”

Potter’s eyes looked up at Draco and he knew that he had to maintain the gaze, it was important for Potter to listen.

“How are we supposed to check?” Potter’s eyes were still on Draco, but the question had been directed elsewhere.

Draco had opened his mouth to suggest speaking with Severus, but Granger pushed forward.

“We’ll have to use Umbridge’s fire to see if we can contact him.”

He wasn’t the only one whose brows arched at her gall.

“We’ll have to draw Umbridge away from her office, but we’ll need lookouts.” She pointed towards Neville and Luna. “That’s where they will come in handy.”

As Neville and Luna agreed to the plan, Potter had stared at the ground with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Alright. We’ll have to be quick about it, otherwise I’m going to go to the Ministry.”

Draco rolled his eyes as he took a step forward and whispered in Potter’s ears. “Have a bit of faith, will you?”

Potter’s face morphed into a grimace. “I’m trying, Draco, I am, but—”

“I get it,” he reassured, and he did. “If things were reversed, I would want to go, too.”

“I’ll tell Umbridge that Peeves is smashing up the Transfiguration department or something,” Weasley said as he seemed to have formed a plan.

“Okay,” Granger said with a finger to her chin. “We need a way to keep students away. Or else a few Slytherins might tip her off.”

“Oi!”

“No offence,” she said with a wave of her hand. It did nothing to soothe Draco’s ire, the offence was still there.

“Luna and I can stand at both ends of the hallway,” Neville offered. “I can make up an excuse.”

“That only leaves Harry and I. We can go under the invisibility cloak, and we can see if Sirius is there.”

“Excuse me,” Draco interrupted anything else she might have said. “Two things here. One, where do I fit into this? And two, you have an invisibility cloak?”

“Well,” Granger hedged nervously. “I just thought—”

Before Draco could take offence, again, Potter spoke up.

“I want him with us.”

Granger and Potter looked at each other, silently sharing _something_ Draco didn’t understand.

“Alright,” Granger said as she stood up straighter. “Let’s do this.”

As Weasley, Neville and Lovegood left the classroom, Potter pulled out an invisibility cloak from his bag.

“You are going to explain this to me at some point,” Draco warned Potter.

“It’s going to be a tight fit,” Granger said as they huddled close to each other. “We aren’t exactly little.”

“Don’t worry, Granger,” Draco drawled as he invaded Potter’s personal space. “I’ll just stick close to Potter.”

Granger snorted. “A real hardship for you.”

“Shut up,” Potter hissed as they left the classroom and made it up the stairs to Umbridge's office.

When they reached her door, Potter pulled out a small knife, and Draco was surprised to see that he could pick locks.

The door swung open easily, something Draco was suspicious of. After Umbridge’s office had been broken into, he figured there would be _some_ kind of spell as security.

Potter knelt on the ground and threw in a handful of floo powder. “Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!”

“Sirius!” Potter yelled loudly. “Sirius are you there?”

“Who’s there?”

Draco stepped forward behind Harry when he recognized the voice.

“Kreacher?”

“It’s the Potter boy’s head in the fire,” Kreacher said, his voice had a pleased edge to it, and that worried Draco. “What has he come for, Kreacher wonders?”

“Where is Sirius, Kreacher?” Potter demanded.

When Kreacher laughed, the noise resembling a croaky wheeze, Draco became alarmed.

“Master has gone out, Harry Potter.”

“Where has he gone?”

Kreacher continued to laugh, only the sound increased in volume.

“Potter,” Draco tried to get his attention, tried to explain that something was wrong, that house elves don’t normally react like that.

“I’m warning you,” Potter threatened Kreacher. “What about everyone else? Is there anyone else with you?”

“Nobody but Kreacher.” The sheer glee in Kreacher’s voice had Draco shaking his head.

“Potter,” he tried again.

“Kreacher thinks that he will have a chat with his Mistress now that Master will be gone.”

“Gone? Has Sirius left somewhere? Kreacher!”

“Potter!” Draco yelled. “He’s _lying._ ” He wasn’t entirely sure why he felt so strongly about it, but nothing about Kreacher made sense, not the way he reacted, not the way he spoke and certainly not his etiquette.

There was a pause before Kreacher spoke up, glee gone from his tone. “Who is that?”

“Draco Malfoy.”

An intake of breath caused Draco to smirk. “Did my father tell you to lie?”

The silence that followed was triumphant in a way. Draco felt as if he had made headway out of the confusing situation.

Draco could hear the sound of feet thundering outside and he acted without thinking. He shoved Potter through the fireplace.

“Malfoy!” Potter yelled but anything past that couldn’t be heard as the connection to Black’s residence went through and the fire dimmed.

“Why did you do that?” Granger asked as the door flew open an in came Umbridge and a few students from the Inquisitorial Squad who had hands around Weasley, Neville, Lovegood, and surprisingly Ginevra.

Umbridge grinned in triumph. “You think I wouldn’t have charms placed around my office after two break-ins?”

As she looked around the room, her smile fell at the sight of Granger and Draco.

“Where is Potter?”

“He’s not here,” Draco said as he tried to keep his voice even and withhold a smirk.

“What do you mean he’s not here?”

“I said, _he’s not here,_ ” he repeated slower and over enunciated each word. A few snorts could be heard, and Draco wasn’t able to stop a quirk of his lips.

Umbridge narrowed her eyes. “You know, I was worried after our last conversation. Even sent a letter to your father. He assured me that you were just going through a faze, simple teenage rebellion. Oh, how his heart will break when he hears of this.”

Draco folded his arms across his chest and shrugged. “Be my guest. Maybe the shock will kill him.”

A low gasp could be heard, and Draco looked up to see Vincent and Greg looking at him intently. It had been years since they had a proper conversation, and he had lost the ability to know what they were thinking.

“You _will_ tell me where Potter is. Nott, fetch me Professor Snape.”

The silence that settled around the room after Nott’s departure was stifling. The only sounds that could be heard were the rustling of robes as his fellow housemates tried to keep Weasley, Neville and Lovegood still.

“You wanted to see me, Headmistress?” said Severus, looking around at all the students. His eyes lingered on Neville who was still trying to fight off the hold on him, before they settled on Draco.

“Professor Snape,” Umbridge greeted with a wide smile that unnerved Draco. “I would like another bottle of Veritaserum.”

Severus arched a lone brow. “You took my full supply. The last bottle was used to interrogate Potter, was it not? I did tell you only a few drops were required.”

“You can make more, can’t you?”

Draco rolled his eyes. Did she know nothing about potions?

“Certainly,” Severus said as his lip curled in distaste. “Due to the potion needing to enter maturity by a solid lunar cycle, it would take a month.”

Umbridge's smile fell and her face swelled in anger. “I can’t wait a month!” she yelled as a finger pointed in his direction.

“I just caught Malfoy and Granger attempting to Floo someone and Potter seems to be absent.”

“Is that so?” Severus looked to Draco and he tried to jerk his head towards the fireplace in a way that would suggest the Potter had gone through, but he was never good at reading Severus.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Umbridge kicked Severus out of the room with a threat of suspension, as if that would have been a punishment.

“I ask you one more time Mister Malfoy, where is Potter?”

Draco said nothing as he stared into her eyes.

“Very well, if you won’t tell me, then I will get my answers another way. The Cruciatus Curse ought to do nicely.”

“That’s illegal,” Granger shrieked.

Draco shot her a look as he willed Granger to shut up.

“You want to break the law, be my guest,” Draco said as he looked around the room. “But we are all witnesses, and if you think my father will accept harm done to his _only_ heir then you are mistaken.”

Despite their family relations, he knew his father would go after Umbridge. His position as the only heir would guarantee that.

Umbridge faltered briefly as she looked to the photo of Fudge on her desk.

“Even if you use the spell on me, it won’t get you anything,” Draco promised. “This won’t be my first time on the receiving end of it.”

He ignored the startled looks from his friends—Merlin, did Granger and Weasley count as friends?

“I’ll be a witness,” Greg grunted, and Draco let out a startled exhale.

Vincent grunted in agreement, and he wondered if he had somehow missed something. “If you harm Draco, then you harm us, too.”

Umbridge clenched her wand so tightly that Draco feared it would break. The majority was against her, and he knew she wouldn’t overpower all of them.

“Out, get out!” she bellowed. “You will all face detention till the end of the term and possibly expulsion.”

Draco doubted that would hold up, but he didn’t wait for her to change her mind about leaving. He grabbed hold of Granger’s wrist and pulled her out of the room.

No one spoke until they were three corridors over.

“What just happened?”

“I used my brain, Weasley.”

Weasley slapped him on the arm, but Draco looked behind him in the hope that Greg and Vincent had followed, but they hadn’t.

“Where _is_ Harry?” Weasley whispered.

“Malfoy shoved him into the fireplace.”

Draco glared at Granger for ratting him out. “It was a gentle push, thank you very much.”

“Does the distinction matter?” Lovegood asked curiously as she looked up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, Malfoy,” Granger said as her lips quivered. “Does it matter?”

“Okay,” Weasley interrupted. “Back to Harry.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Kreacher was lying to him, and the only way Potter was going to find out if Black was there was to go in and see for himself. I just helped him along.”

“It’s not a bad plan,” Neville said with a nod and a pat on Draco’s back.

“At least until he shows back up,” Granger added. “Umbridge is going to lose it when she sees him.”

“So you really think Sirius was there?”

“I do.” Draco wasn’t sure why he still felt so strongly about it, but with everything he had learned about Potter’s dreams, the lack of Occlumency shields, the Hall of Prophecies and then Kreacher’s behaviour—he was certain that Black had been there. He had to be.

“I hope you are right,” Weasley whispered. “If not, I’m not sure how he’ll let us know about Sirius.”

“It’s Potter, Weasley,” Draco said with a small smile. “He’ll find a way.”

Of that he was sure. All that was left to do was wait for him to show up.

 

* * *

 

 

When Potter returned to the castle, it was with a level of dramatics that Draco had grown to expect. Not only had he returned during breakfast, but it was with Dumbledore, McGonagall and three Aurors.

“What is the meaning of this?” Umbridge screeched as she looked at the Aurors incredulously. “Arrest this man.”

A woman with bright pink hair and an equally bright smile stepped forward.

“‘Fraid I can’t do that ma’am. All warrants pertaining to Dumbledore have been dissolved.”

Umbridge marched forward, the sound of her heels the only noise heard in the silence that stretched.”

“I do, however, have a warrant for your arrest,” the woman continued, her hair morphing into a brighter shade of pink, it almost hurt Draco’s eyes to stare directly at it.

“Excuse me?” Umbridge whispered. “Do you know who I am?”

“It would seem that the disciplinary actions you oversaw have reached the parents,” Dumbledore said, as he spoke up for the first time. “Illegal blood quills were used on dozens of students, threats of the unforgivable curses and even Veritaserum on minors without their parents’ consent.”

With each word Dumbledore spoke, Umbridge became paler and paler until her face was ashen, and her hands trembled.

“Fudge won’t—”

“Fudge is no longer Minister of Magic,” the Auror spoke up, a giddy smile on her face.

As if it had been on cue, the Great Hall was flooded with the morning mail delivery. Draco picked up the _Daily Prophet_ and laughed at the announcement of Fudge being sacked.

The laugh left him when he saw the headline of the article underneath the announcement of a new Minister.

 

   **Ministry Break In— Death Eaters caught in the Department of Mysteries**

 

_Reports of a break in came in as early as last night. Aurors were tipped off by an anonymous source that Death Eaters were in the Department of Mysteries. It is still unclear what they were after, the only thing that was made clear was that they were on a mission from You-Know-Who._

_Whether that is true or not is still up in the air, but with the reappearance of several Death Eaters from the Mass Breakout earlier in the year, and that coupled with the darkening of the Dark Mark on the suspects, experts in the Auror Administration have confirmed their suspicions._

_For nearly a year now, both Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter have been firm with their belief that You-Know-Who has returned. Potter even gave a tell-all to the Quibbler, which you can see that article at the end of this one, paraphrased to show what was said on the subject._

_Among the Death Eaters caught were Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Walden Macnair, Theodore Nott Sr and Augustus Rookwood._

_They all have retained counsel and refuse to partake in Veritaserum. The Magical Law Enforcement refused to give word on a date for their trial, but we remain on standby for when that will change. Amelia Bones, head of the MLE, has given a statement. More on that can be found on page 5._

_As for general consensus, there has been mass hysteria over the possibility of You-Know-Who’s return. Ministry officials have urged the public to remain calm, and safety pamphlets will be sent out within the next few weeks._

**Continued on page 2.**

Draco reread the article twice as his mind tried to piece it all together.

_Anonymous source?_

He looked up to peer at Potter. Had he been the anonymous source? Did that mean that Black _had_ been home, and Kreacher had lied?

He looked to Dumbledore and was startled to find his eyes on Draco. There was an intensity there that he had never been on the receiving end of when it came to Dumbledore.

“If you come quietly, we can move this along quicker.”

“Come quietly?” The pitch to Umbridge’s voice caused Draco to wince. “I have done nothing wrong!”

“You shouldn’t tell lies, Professor,” Potter said as he raised the back of his hand, and several students gasped.

The smile on the Auror’s face didn’t dim when Umbridge shook a fist at Potter, however, her eyes were cold as she pulled out her wand.

“Either way, you will end up with us. You don’t want to look bad for the papers, do you?”

Draco expected her to fight, to keep spewing nonsense, but she did neither. He watched the Auror’s take Umbridge out of the Great Hall. It ended up anti-climactic, really.

Dumbledore clapped once in an attempt to draw everyone’s attention.

“Exams are over and Umbridge has left. I think this calls for a feast, don’t you all?”

The sounds of cheers drowned out everything else. Draco smiled as he looked around the room and saw the relief on most students’ faces.

He looked up to see Potter staring at him in a way that had his heart beating faster than normal.

‘Thank you,’ Potter mouthed, and Draco’s smile grew wider.

They would have time to talk, time to tell each other what had happened, time to explore things— _later_. The time would come, but Draco wanted to do nothing except eat a feast and play Exploding Snap with Neville.

They had earned it, after all.

 

* * *

 

 

**Dear Cousin,**

_I don’t know when I’ll next be able to write to you. I have discovered something about the Dark Lord that has changed everything. My suspicions have yet to be confirmed, but with the information Kreacher provided me, I think it’s safe to assume I am correct, safe to assume the worst._

_Have you ever heard of a ritual so dark that just the thought sours the stomach? The mere notion of such a thing is an act of evil that should never have been created. Part of me wonders if I am correct, wonders if the Dark Lord would have really descended that far from his already absent humanity._

_The more I consider the possibilities, the more I realize that yes, yes he would have done such a thing. If I had known what he was capable of, what kind of horrors that would befall his very soul, I never would have joined his ranks._

_For years I have regretted my decision to join, I have wondered if things could have been different, but now I know that I needed to have done this all along. Because if what Kreacher has told me is true, then I must take action. I cannot sit idly by while such a creation exists in this world._

_If nothing is done, then the Dark Lord will come back, he will always come back. His life will never end, and humanity will be nothing but a passing memory in his new world order. It’s not just a simple Dark ritual, it’s not something that can be overlooked._

_There are lines that should never be crossed. When one mutilates the soul, there is no redemption, there is no remorse without consequences, consequences that I know he won’t ever own up to._

_The Dark Lord has taken measures to ensure his survival too far. I can only pray that it was just the one instance. I can only hope that this is the first creation._

_Or Merlin help us all._

_I don’t expect that you will hear from me for a long time, and if I can’t succeed, then this might be our last correspondence._

_Please cousin, take care of yourself. You are in my thoughts_.

**Love,**

**Regulus**

 

* * *

 

 

Draco read the letter with trembling fingers, and he wondered if he could blame it on the vibrations of the Hogwarts Express. He stared out the window as his emotions warred with each other.

It was disheartening to have come to know someone so intimately and not be able to help. He wanted to offer assistance, wanted to be able to fight whatever Regulus had fought. It confused him to care about someone he had never met.

How could someone who was already dead matter so much? How did Regulus become someone he admired, someone he thought about in times of guidance?

He stared at the letter more out of habit than anything. What had Regulus meant? The clues were there, but Draco wasn’t sure he understood them.

_Dark rituals, souls being mutilated, and an endless life._

What did it all mean? Draco tried to think of the many Dark rituals he had read about, or seen his father perform, but none of what Regulus said made any sense.

Nothing made sense.

Draco ran his free hand through his hair as worry filled him. Was the latest letter his last one? Would he never receive another letter throughout his life from Regulus again? There was a dependency inside him that ached at the thought.

His entire life had been changed from Regulus’ letters. It couldn't end now, not when he still felt like lessons needed to be learned, and paths needed to be chosen. Regulus couldn’t leave his life, not in such a confusing manner. Not when Draco still wasn’t sure what had happened to Regulus, wasn’t sure how his cousin had met an early departure.

There was still so much to Regulus that Draco didn’t know, and he wanted to get to know him, wanted to get to know the only person who could relate to Draco so well.

“Are you okay?”

Draco startled as he looked up. His eyes were blurry and he was proud that it hadn’t advanced to tears. He knew it was Neville or Luna, they both had gone down the train looking for loose Nargles. Draco squinted, it was hard to make out the shape of the person, but he had recognized the voice.

“Potter?”

“What’s wrong?”

Draco blinked rapidly before he looked away to wipe at his eyes.

“I’m fine.” He didn’t have to look up to know that Potter would most likely have a frown on his face. He folded the letter and put it inside his bag.

“You can talk to me about it, you know?”

Draco looked at Potter and took in his serious expression and smiled softly.

“I know, but I’m not ready to talk about this one.”

Potter glanced down towards Draco’s bag as his brows furrowed. He knew that Potter was trying to figure it out, and he wished him well.

“You get letters a lot.”

“Mhm.”

“Are they from your father?”

“No.”

“Do you know the person?”

“In theory.”

“And—wait, in theory?”

Draco laughed as Potter frowned. “Don’t get a complex. I might explain it all to you one day.”

Potter seemed to hesitate before he said, “They haven’t hurt you, have they?”

His heart went through another round of palpitations at the question. “Not intentionally.”

“But—”

“Potter, I’m alright.”

Draco stared into Potter’s eyes, and he hoped the mess of emotions inside of him were visible.

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

“Why do you care?”

Potter scoffed. “You _know_ why I care.”

He did know.

Draco looked down at his hands as he thought over Potter’s question. Would he tell Potter if things got bad? If he really wasn’t okay, would he tell him?

“I don’t know if I would tell you,” he admitted.

“I just want to help.”

“I know.” And he did. Potter would always want to help others. “It’s a part of your faults.”

“Excuse you,” Potter said with a laugh. “How is that a fault? Shouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“Maybe with other people,” Draco teased. “But if it’s you, then no.”

“That’s not fair.”

Draco tilted until he could put his head on Potter’s shoulder.

“Life isn’t fair.”

“No,” Potter agreed after a beat of silence. “It’s not.”

“Why did we summon the short thread in life?”

Potter chuckled, and Draco could feel it in the way his shoulders shook.

“I think I heard somewhere that those who have obstacles to overcome in life are richer for it in the end.”

“What a load of rubbish.”

They both laughed, and Draco wanted to commit the combined sounds to memory.

“What do you think will be at the end of our obstacles when it’s all said and done with?” Draco whispered. Would it just be more obstacles? Would he ever have a moment of reprieve? Or would he have a chance to relax and live a normal life?

“I’d like to think it would be whatever we wanted. We make our own futures, don’t we?”

“Sounds like a childhood fantasy.”

Potter hummed. “Maybe, but why can’t that be the answer? Why can’t we have a fantasy ending?”

“Because life is unfair.”

There was no chuckle, no laughter, because it hit home for them—too close to the truth.

“But,” Potter began in a tone of authority. “Having certain people nearby can make the fact that life is unfair enjoyable.”

“Like friends,” Draco offered as his mind went to Neville, Luna, and reluctantly Granger and Weasley, too.

“And people you care about.”

Something in Potter’s voice caused Draco to peer up at him.

“You care about me?”

Potter rolled his eyes, and Draco really wondered what he had ever seen in Potter to begin with.

“You know I do.”

Yeah, he had known.

Draco placed his head back on Potter’s shoulder and hoped that was enough, hoped that it voiced the things he couldn't.

Because Potter made Draco’s unfair life bearable as well.


	7. Draco Malfoy and the Letter that Ended the Path

Draco sighed as he looked through yet another book on Dark rituals. He had tried to find anything that could fit into what Regulus had hinted at, but it had been futile. He had found a number of horrible and sickening Dark rituals, but none of them even came close.

He had thought, when he read _Dark Elements in Matters of the Soul,_ that it would have shed some kind of light. The book had been three volumes remastered into a single collection. He had wondered if the original books might have held something different, but the original books had been recalled.

Soul magic was outlawed by the Ministry, and that could have been the cause of the recall, but Draco didn’t think so. Not when the volumes of the collection were numbered one, two, and four. Volume three had never been remastered.

If Draco hadn’t been worried about his father discovering his research, he would have hired someone to find the book for him; dealers in Knockturn Alley would have found what he was looking for.

As it was, Draco had been trying to hide from his father the best he could. His first night back from Hogwarts had been a disaster. He had endured a two-hour lecture on why he was a disappointment as an heir. His father had put the blame of him not being chosen to lead the Ministry raid on Draco.

_‘The Dark Lord has heard whispers of your friendship with Potter,’_ it had been sneered in his face. _‘The Dark Lord no longer trusts me, and it’s your fault.’_

Draco had said nothing as his father berated him, verbally attacked him. As usual, his mother just watched.

_‘Don’t disappoint me again, Draco’,_ his father had warned. _‘You will not like the outcome should something like this happen again.’_

As if their normal actions were enjoyable.

Draco closed the book with a snap and pushed it away harder than necessary. He was ready to give up, wanted to cease looking, but every time he tried to, thoughts of Regulus entered his mind.

He pulled another book towards him, albeit reluctantly, when the sound of a peck on the window had him craning his neck in time to see a familiar owl. Draco rushed forward and grabbed the letter. Usually, the owl left quickly, but on its way out, the owl stopped on his shoulder to nuzzle the side of his head before it took off.

It felt like a goodbye.

With his heart already in pain, Draco shakily opened the letter.

 

* * *

 

 

**Dear Cousin,**

_I don’t know how to start, or rather how to end this. My suspicions have been confirmed, and it’s as bad as I feared. I had hoped that once I arrived, I would see that I had been wrong._

_If only that were true._

_I don’t wish to alarm you, but I’m not making it out of this cave alive. I think by writing this, I am prolonging my death. Whether that makes me a coward or just human, I do not know. I have always felt as if I would not survive the war, but I didn’t think it would end like this._

_I thought that maybe the opposition would take me down. Perhaps I would die mid-battle, not as a hero but as the villain who got what they deserved._

_Never once have I entertained the notion that I would be the catapult to my own ending. I never stopped to think that I would fight back, fight against the Dark Lord._

_But here I am._

_I want to leave you innocent, and not provide all the necessary information, but doing so would be a disservice. You deserve to know what has happened._

_The Dark Lord has created a Horcrux. I pray that you don’t know what that is, or how it is obtained. Know this, only a true monster can create a Horcrux, but only as the soul has been split, ripped apart and damaged beyond repair._

_Anyone will tell you that the Dark Lord is a monster, but they do not know the depths. They do not know the things he has done to obtain that title._

_As much as I hate him, as much as I can’t stomach the things he has done, nor the things I, myself, have done, I can’t help but want to weep for his soul._

_A soul is a beautiful thing, a piece of a certain kind of magic that we, Wizards, don’t understand. The soul is not like our magical cores, it is not something that can be replenished or fixed with care. We are given one soul to cherish, and the Dark Lord has ruined his._

_He has a taken what should have been a gift and turned into something unrecognizable. Murder tears the soul apart, and someone who creates a Horcrux has murdered with the intent to gain something out of it._

_The cruelty and lack of respect for the dead does not surprise me in the slightest. The act of a Horcrux itself, however, frightens me._

_With a Horcrux, the Dark Lord cannot die. A piece of his ripped soul will remain in whatever conduit he places it in. A piece of the Dark Lord’s corrupted, vile and cruel soul is out there in the world._

_Right in front of me._

_It’s a locket, I imagine it’s an heirloom of some kind. It has always been rumoured that he was a distant relative of Salazar Slytherin._

_I can feel the magic, and it nauseates me. It’s Dark, cousin, far darker than anything I have ever felt. As I look at the locket, I can’t help but ache for the victim that suffered to make the magic possible._

_Who were they? Will their family even know?_

_Those are questions I ask about myself as well. I don’t know who I am, not anymore, and I don’t know if I ever have known. Will those who know me define me? Or will they speak of me in disdain? Will my family know what has happened to me?_

_No. My mother will not understand my change of heart, nor will she want to live with the truth. It is better to let her think I died doing what she wanted._

_Sirius. If I could see him one more time, I would tell him that he shaped me in ways that he doesn’t realize. Sometimes, I wonder what my life would have been like if I had followed in his footsteps. He cares so deeply about the ones he loves, and I fear that I no longer fit that description._

_I love my brother, but I don’t know what he would think of my ending. Would he be ashamed that his little brother had turned so rotten? Would he hate me as much as he hates Dark wizards? I don’t know if he ever thinks of me, but I think of him often._

_I’ll miss him._

_One act of good cannot erase the things that I have done. I am not a good person, so please do not look at this and think highly of me._

_I am a Death Eater, no matter how hard I wish I weren’t. The choice was mine, and I made it of my own free will. Do not forget that I once believed in the Dark Lord’s message. Do not forget that I have not made any means to redeem myself._

_Perhaps if I had more time, I would make an effort. If there were another way, I might have even gone to my brother and beg for forgiveness, seek asylum and hope his heart would still welcome me._

_But I can’t do that, not anymore._

_There is a potion above the Horcrux. I know that the Dark Lord intends for the drinker to die. He would not have an easy solution. I can tell it’s a poison by it’s aroma, but one made to appear as if it were water._

_There’s an ironic end to that, as I can feel Dark magic in the water. I don’t have to investigate to know what lurks beneath the surrounding cave. He intends for the victim to end as it began. I suppose the Dark Lord has always had a flair for dramatics._

_As much as I have prepared myself for the possibility of death, I don’t think I am ready. Is anyone ever ready? I don’t want to die, but I don’t want the Dark Lord to live more. Something has to give, and I am expendable._

_I have ordered Kreacher to destroy the locket, and I hope he will find a way to do that. House elf magic is strong, and I have my faith in his abilities._

_There is a certain level of freedom in choosing what I want. I have never allowed myself the luxury of doing what is right. I have always considered other people first, considered selfish paths, and considered what was expected of me._

_I know exactly what is expected of me now. The Dark Lord would expect me to return home and do nothing. He would expect my loyalty, my silence, and he would require unwavering servitude._

_However, I’m not going to do that._

_I’m going to do everything I have been taught I shouldn’t. I am going to break free, and even if that freedom will only last a few minutes, it will still be worth it. The last breath I take will be that of a free man. I’m going to treasure that._

_But what I treasure the most is you and these letters. You have given me a reason to see the world anew, given me a reason to want to be a better person_ — _even if it was only internally. I want so much for you. I want your life to be filled with everything that mine wasn’t. I want you to know no pain, know no doubts, and to only know love._

_Whether that is unrealistic or not, I still dream of that for you._

_I have shared so much of myself with you, and I don’t even know if it’s something you are interested in. I would like to think that these letters are just as important to you as they are to me. I wish I could talk to you, I wish I could be there to see you grow up. I want to see your youth, see you sorted, and see how you handle adulthood. I want to offer advice, get to know you, and just be in your presence._

_I just want to be there for you, and I hate that I won’t be. I hate that the Dark Lord has taken something else from me now._

_I don’t have much more time, and that’s something I regret._

_Please do not mourn me. Please do not dwell on my passing. I don’t know what I want you to remember me by, but I do know what I don’t want you to think of. I don’t want you to think of this letter. I don’t want you to think of my death._

_I want you to think of me and remember a troubled adult. I want you to see how self-aware I have become, and I want you to think of the choices I didn’t take, and the path I didn’t follow._

_I want you to think of me and see something that you don’t want to repeat. Please do not become the monster I am._

_Cousin, I started these letters because I wanted to show you a different side of things, I wanted to give you a complete story—one that was unbiased._

_And yet, I write to you now and I know it will be biased. I am praying with everything that I am that you don’t become me._

_Please don't make the mistakes I did. Please._

_Make your own mistakes, but let them be juvenile. Let your mistakes be things that every child goes through. Don’t make a mistake that will haunt you for the rest of your life._

_Be informed in everything you do and if, for some reason, you have read all of my letters and still choose to walk in my footsteps, know that I will still love you._

_Everyone can change, everyone can be better, and no one has a claim on redemption._

_You are always in my thoughts, but you will remain in my thoughts until the end._

**Love,**

**Regulus**

 

* * *

 

 

A sob left Draco as he finished the letter. He clutched it to his heart and cried. Despite Regulus’ words, he would mourn him. He would mourn the person Regulus had been, and he would mourn the life that Regulus could’ve had.

It wasn’t fair. Why did the Dark Lord ruin everything? Why did one man hold so much power?

He tried to stop the tears, but his emotions became erratic, and he was angry—so _angry,_ and that fueled his tears further. Who gave the Dark Lord the right to create such a horrible creation? Something so awful that Regulus sacrificed his life to get rid of.

Draco didn’t care that Regulus thought his death wasn’t worth remembering, because to Draco it was. To him, it would be something he could never forget.

His heart broke, because no one knew what had happened. Not only had Regulus died in whatever cave the Horcrux resided in, but no word have ever gotten out of _why_ he died. Regulus died fighting his beliefs, he died to see even a piece of the Dark Lord destroyed.

That was worth talking about. That was worth the public knowledge. Regulus Black deserved redemption, and Draco didn’t care that his cousin hadn’t wanted it.

To Draco, Regulus _was_ a role model, just not in the way one would expect. Every major life lesson had been something Regulus taught him. He had learned who he wanted to be and what he didn’t want to become through the letters. Regulus had shaped everything, had changed so much.

He wasn’t sure what kind of person he would have been without Regulus. Wasn’t sure what path he would have taken. Would he have chosen to become a Death Eater? Would he have unknowingly allowed history to repeat itself through a familial bond? Would Draco have made the same mistakes?

Draco wanted to rage, wanted to scream the injustice of it all to the world. But what he wanted the most, was for the Dark Lord to be taken care of once and for all, and by Merlin, he wasn’t going to let Regulus die in vain. The knowledge of the letters needed to be told, and he was going to make it happen.

He didn’t know anything about Horcruxes further than what Regulus wrote about, but Draco was sure he knew some people who might. People who had strength backing them, who had powerful wizards on their side. People who believed in a worthy cause, and people who cared for others.

As Draco stared down at the tear covered parchment, he knew, once and for all, what path he would take. There would be no going back, there would be no change of mind later on. Draco knew who he wanted to be, who he was and who he had been.

The path ahead could get rough, rocky and dangerous, but his decision had been made, and he could only move forward.

One step at a time.

 

* * *

 

 

When Alpsi apparated in, Draco knew it was a summons, and by the screams from below, he knew it hadn’t been his father who made the decision.

Draco looked around his room and took in his surroundings, took in the things that had defined him for so long. The first potions kit he had received from Severus was given a place on his shelf. His puzzles and magic strengthening toys were carefully arranged on his desk. Books he coveted over the years were given their own spotlight on the bookshelf. Various knickknacks and odd things collected from Dobby had been placed gently on his vanity.

The room had been his safe haven for so long; it had been the place of many conversations with Dobby, many games and tickle wars between them. His room had been lived in happily, despite the circumstances.

Draco’s childhood might not have been a good one, might not have been preferable, but it was one that he wouldn't change.

He took one last look around the room before he shut the door for the last time.

As he walked into his father’s study, the room of his nightmares, he discovered that the sight of the Dark Lord was far worse than any dream.

The Dark Lord did not resemble something human. The mixture of animalistic features was startling. Red eyes peered into his own, and Draco thanked everything he had that he had taught himself Occlumency as the stare increased in intensity. Long pale fingers toyed with a wand as if it were unimportant, but Draco knew that it was for show. Thin lips were quirked in an oddly pleasant manner, but he could see right through it. There was a dangerous tilt to the Dark Lord’s lips and it put him on edge.

“Young Malfoy, how good of you to show up—” There was a pause as the Dark Lord lifted a hand, as if he expected Draco to speak up, but Draco wasn’t stupid enough to fall for that. “—late.”

Draco hadn’t received a timed summons, nor had there been any message regarding when to appear. When the Dark Lord’s smile grew, he knew it wouldn’t have mattered when he had arrived, it still wouldn’t have been enough.

“I punish those who can’t follow orders.”

Before Draco could understand the implications of that, a flick of a wrist and the uttering of a spell caused his knees to collapse before he fell sideways and writhed on the floor.

Pain. Unimaginable but familiar pain filled Draco. The Cruciatus Curse didn’t just amplify pain, it sent it in waves; moments of reprieve were just as painful as his seizing muscles. The ache of the pain wasn’t tangible to a single spot on his body, there were no distractions as the agony tormented his entire being and all his mind could focus on was the need to make it stop.

Time meant nothing when it came to the curse. What could have been only one second felt much longer and it skewed reality.

When his muscles continued to spasm, but no further pain came, he tried to gather the strength to raise his head.

“I have been informed that you have intimate knowledge of Potter. Is this true?”

“No,” Draco whispered as he braced himself the pain he knew would come. “I don’t.”

What should have been easier to handle the second time around was worse. The knowledge of what was to come couldn’t be ignored and it caused the awareness to magnify everything.

His body hadn’t had time to heal properly before it was attacked again, attacked internally, something that left no scars on the body but inflicted the suffering of the mind. At some point, he had bitten his tongue and the sharp tang of blood filled his mouth. The agony ripped apart his mind and the only thing he could see, hear or feel was pain. Draco wanted it to stop, wanted it to go away, he would do anything.

Except give the Dark Lord what he wanted.

Draco lost count of the many times he had been put under the spell. He had denied the accusations, shook his head and screamed his denial, but the Dark Lord hadn’t given in—hadn’t given up.

“My Lord, I don’t think he knows—”

A scream that was not his own caused Draco to tilt his head from his position on the floor until he could look at his father, who had been on the receiving end of the curse.

“I did not ask your opinion. You wish to take your son’s punishment? I care not who is in pain.”

He watched his father writhe on the floor and watched the pain in his eyes, that were so similar to his own, get worse with each reapplication. Draco thought he would have felt empathy or understanding, but his mind disassociated and all he could feel was relief; the relief of not being the one on the other end of the wand.

“You have been a loyal Death Eater,” the Dark Lord said during a moment of calm as he walked around Draco’s father with a ‘ _tsk’_. “I have overlooked your cowardice when I fell, overlooked your denunciation of our ways and my plans of the future.”

His father jerked his head in a way that Draco wondered if it was a nod of agreement, but it wasn’t until he realized how close the Dark Lord’s feet were to his father’s head, that he knew it was an aim to grovel. His stomach soured at the thought that his father would have fallen to the delusion of a man like the Dark Lord.

“However, I will not overlook your only heir besmirching your good standing by parading around with Potter. You have promised me his servitude, and I aim to collect.”

_What?_

As the Dark Lord turned towards Draco, he knew that he had to remain calm and not show the panic and horror that had seized him. His father had promised Draco’s servitude? Promised something that was not his to give away?

Draco glanced at his father and was not surprised to see that he would not meet his eyes. Coward. His father was a coward and he hated him, hated everything about him, but mostly—Draco hated that a small piece of him would always care about him.

“You should be proud,” the Dark Lord whispered, eyes bright with something Draco wanted no part of. “You should be honoured that I want you in my ranks.”

Draco closed his eyes when the touch of a foot pressed against his face.

“Tell me, are you proud? Are you honoured that I have sought you out?”

He inhaled deeply. He wanted to scream, wanted to rant and he wanted to tell the Dark Lord exactly what he thought of him.

Draco remained silent.

“You must prove your loyalty, prove that my doubts of you are nothing but rumours. If you are as competent as your father claims, then prove it to me.”

When Draco looked at his father, he thought he would see anger or perhaps his eyes would have shown a plea, a plea for him to do as the Dark Lord wished. But as Draco looked at his father, the only thing he saw was recognition.

His father had always known what his answer would have been. Draco wasn’t sure if the knowledge made him want to cry or to rejoice.

Draco looked at the Dark Lord and they locked eyes.

“No.”

There a was a moment of silence, and if the Dark Lord had had eyebrows, he was sure they would have been furrowed.

He knew there was no time to second guess his words, no time to change his mind, and no time to form a plan.

“Dobby!”

The crack of the apparition was loud as the sound echoed off the walls. Time didn’t slow as the Dark Lord raised his wand, time didn’t stop as his mouth opened to utter a spell.

Draco forced himself into an upright position. His body ached, and his muscles screamed at him to remain still, but he couldn’t. In the time it took for him to stand, Dobby had placed himself in front of Draco.

“You will _not_ harm Draco Malfoy!”

There was a blinding light as Dobby’s hand shot forward and magic collided with whatever silent spell the Dark Lord had cast.

“How dare—”

Draco never got to hear the end of the Dark Lord’s sentence. A small hand grabbed ahold of him and he was lost in the warmth of Dobby’s magic as they disapparated.

They had left the Manor, and for the first time, Draco felt free. Was it the same freedom that Regulus had found?

Draco’s path didn’t seem unattainable any longer. There were no signs, no instructions, and he wasn’t sure where he would go, but it would be of his own free will.

He was the one making the decisions, and he had never felt such relief.

 

* * *

 

 

When they landed, Draco could barely raise his head enough to look around. The neighbourhood was clearly muggle, one that was rundown and in need of repairs. Children were chasing each other and their laughter was so different from his own childhood that he ached.

“Where are we?” Draco panted as he tried to remain upright. His muscles spasmed and he knew they would continue to do so for several more hours.

Dobby didn’t say anything as he raised his hand to knock on the door. They could hear swearing and loud complaints as someone on the other side got closer.

The door opened a crack and voices could be heard as someone in the residence started to scream.

“BLOOD TRAITORS! Filth! Scum! How dare you besmirch my home with your presence!”

“Remus shut her up! I don’t know why people knock. I have told them not to. The damn woman made my life hell while she was alive and she torments me in her death as well. It’s not fair!”

When the door fully opened, and the grumblings continued, Draco wondered if they were at the right house. The person at the door had their head turned behind them over their shoulder and they didn’t seem to care that people were at the door.

“One of these days I’m going to run away. Somewhere tropical where I can surround myself in silence, and men—definitely men.”

“Huh,” Draco whispered without realizing it. The person turned to face them but paused to gape.

It took Draco longer than it should have to realize that he was staring at Sirius Black. The family resemblance to his mother and aunt were prominent.

“Mister Black, sir,” Dobby squeaked, with his arms still supporting Draco. “Can we enter?”

Black’s mouth was still parted, and his eyes were wide, but he stepped aside to let them in.

“Remus! Harry! Get your arses in here now, you aren’t going to believe this.”

“If it’s another nude magazine, save it!” Potter yelled, the noise muffled from the distance. “The last one you showed me gave me nightmares.”

Black snorted before it turned into full-on laughter as he doubled over.

“How embarrassing, and in front of your boyfriend, too.”

“Malfoy isn’t my boyfriend! I already told you that.”

Draco looked up at the staircase that led to the second floor, where he assumed Potter was. There was a moment of silence before he could hear thundering footsteps.

“Wait, what do you mean?” He heard the question before he actually saw him.

Potter stopped at the top of the stairs, puffs of air could be heard as he panted, wide eyes stared down at him before they narrowed in concern.

“Are you alright?” Potter rushed down the stairs faster than Draco expected, and before he could register that, Potter pulled him away from Dobby and led him to a room that resembled a study. His mind went back to the one he had just left, and he couldn’t help but flinch.

“Can we go somewhere else?” Draco asked as he put his arm around Potter’s waist for support.

“Sure,” Potter said easily as if Draco hadn’t made an odd comment, and he might have fallen just a little bit more for Potter in that moment.

“What about the kitchen?” Black offered as he pushed open the door.

Draco let Potter carry most of his weight as they entered the room. He thought they were alone, but a loud gasp caused his muscles to tense, and he couldn't help the whimper that left his mouth.

“It’s alright,” Potter whispered. “The chair is just right here and then Remus can take a look at you.”

He wanted to tell Potter that he was perfectly fine, wanted to snark him, wanted to tease back, but he didn’t have the energy. His knee made contact with the rough feel of wood and it was enough for Draco to reach forward and hold onto it as he sat down gingerly.

Potter moved to sit next to him but a hand near Potter’s knee caused Draco to look over in time to hear Dobby say, “Excuse me, Harry Potter, but Dobby would like to sit next to Draco.”

Draco didn’t wait for Potter to respond before he pulled the available chair next to him and helped Dobby climb up.

He watched Potter move to his other side and had to wonder why Dobby had asked in the first place. It wasn’t until Dobby winked at him that he realized there wasn’t a reason at all. Merlin, he loved Dobby.

Draco took a deep breath before he peered up into three pairs of concerned eyes.

“Potter,” he nodded his head in greeting, a small quirk of his lips formed when Potter reached forward to grab his hand.

“Mister Lupin,” Draco continued as he looked around the table.

_“Mister Lupin.”_ A snort drew his attention towards Black who appeared to be coughing into his hand. “Sounds like a stuffy tosser who can’t handle his gin.”

“Mister Black.”

The laughter went out of Black as Lupin and Potter laughed loudly.

“Now who is stuffy?” Lupin asked, a bright smile in place, and Draco couldn’t remember seeing Lupin so vibrant before.

A poke to his knee caused Draco to clear his throat.

“Sorry, and this is Dobby.”

Dobby waved happily. “Nice to be meeting you, sirs.”

He could tell that Black and Lupin weren’t quite sure what to make of Dobby, but they had a smile on their faces and that was enough for Draco.

“Are you going to tell them about You-Know-Who?”

_“What?”_

“Voldemort? You _saw_ him?”

“Are you okay? What happened?”

Draco wasn’t sure who to answer first. He frowned down at Dobby. “I was going to lead up to that, you know.”

One of Dobby’s ears drooped but he didn’t appear to be apologetic. When Dobby’s brows arched, Draco scowled.

“I was! I wasn’t going to hide it.”

“Perhaps not, Draco,” Dobby agreed. “But the pain you would have.”

“Pain?” Potter asked, his voice sharp with concern. “What kind of pain?”

Draco narrowed his eyes at Dobby. He had thought that the fact that he couldn’t stand upright would have been the only tip off that they knew he was in pain. Excuses had been made in his head that he could offer as to why he was in pain, and not a single one of them would have mentioned the Cruciatus Curse. Dobby must have suspected that all along—how he had known about it at all, was a mystery.

“My father promised the Dark Lord that I would serve him.”

A noise left Black, and Draco couldn’t quite say it sounded human.

“He made the decision for you?”

Draco nodded as he looked down at the table and focused on the cracks of the wood. On instinct, he wanted to curl his lip in distaste, but he felt as if he could relate to the table; he too had cracks, he too still had to go on with them unmended.

“I told him no.”

When no one said anything, Draco looked up and frowned at their expressions.

“Why is that surprising? Did you think I would say yes? Did you think that I would join his ranks and become someone that I have been trying so hard not to be?”

If they thought he could have gone through with it, then perhaps he was in the wrong place.

“This was a mistake, I’ll just find Neville, excuse me.”

Before Draco could move to get up, Potter held onto his hand tighter.

“Please don’t, Draco.”

He closed his eyes at the sound of his name. Leave it to Potter to use cunning against him.

“We aren’t surprised you said no,” Black began in a soft tone. It’s the act of bravery that was surprising. The act itself, not the merits of your morals.”

Draco opened his eyes, only to stare down at the hand holding his own. He wasn’t sure he was ready to talk to Black. Every time his eyes zeroed in on him, he wondered if that was how Regulus would have looked too. Had the brothers been as close in appearances as they had been in age? The ratty tapestry in the Manor was old and cracked and did nothing to show what Regulus might have looked like.

“I didn’t come here for asylum,” Draco said as he squared his shoulders and moved his hand away from Potter. “I didn’t come here for a ‘well done’ or whatever nice Gryffindor speeches you already have planned out.”

Lupin’s brows arched higher and higher with each word Draco spoke, and he wondered if they could reach his hairline.

“Why did you come here?” Black asked with narrowed eyes and a hint of suspicion. The wariness alone relaxed Draco, that was an element he was used to. Kind words and praises had him uneasy, but Black’s suspicious nature was exactly what he needed.

“The Dark Lord has made a Horcrux in the past, and I think your side should know about it.”

“What’s a Horcrux?” Potter asked at the same time Lupin backed away from the table as if it had burned him, and Black let out a horrified noise that hurt Draco’s ears.

“A piece of someone’s soul placed into an object for safe keeping. It can only be done by murder, which rips apart the soul,” Draco explained. Potter covered his mouth as his face twisted in horror.

“How do you know this?” The suspicion in Black had spread to Lupin as both stared at him with their arms crossed and their foreheads pinched.

“I—um, well—” Draco took a deep breath as he pulled out the only thing he had kept from the Manor. The only thing that mattered.

“I have been receiving letters since I was ten.” He watched Potter straighten up in his chair. “They have shaped my life in many ways.” Draco blinked rapidly as he clutched them to his heart.

He looked up at Black as his eyes stung and his mind thought of Regulus.

“You see, your brother Regulus wrote to me before he died.”

Pain replaced the suspicion on Black’s face and his eyes moved to the letters in Draco’s hands.

“How do you know they are from him?”

“Dobby checked them, sir!” Dobby said as he clapped his hands once. “Regulus Black sent them, he did.”

“What—” Black’s voice tapered off as he looked away from the letters at glared at the wall. “What did he write to you about?”

“Everything,” Draco sighed, a small smile in place as he tightened his hold. He knew he’d have to go into detail, have to explain it all and even hand over the letters, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to let them go, didn’t want to set them down, but he did.

Draco slowly pushed the letters to the middle of the table and he tried not to feel as if he was giving a piece of himself away.

“At first, he just wanted someone to talk to, someone to listen to him. Regulus made a lot of mistakes, and he didn’t have anyone to tell it to.”

“He could have told me,” Black growled as his hands clenched into fists. “I would have listened to him.”

“Would you really have done so?” Draco asked seriously. He ignored the way Black’s head snapped to his and ignored the anger on his face, he ignored the way his fists clenched to the point his knuckles turned white.

“Regulus spoke of you in his letters, how you have always known who you are and what you wanted. He didn’t have that, he didn’t know what he was supposed to be, so he listened to your mother until there was nothing but her wishes propelling him. Can you tell me that he could have confided in you without you trying to change him as she had? Would you have been unbiased? Or would you have hated him for his choices?”

Black’s fingers unclenched and clenched, the action repeated several times as he closed his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Black admitted, and Draco wasn’t sure if he was upset over the question or the answer. “I would like to think that I would have been there for him.”

Black opened his eyes, and the intensity stilled Draco.

“Back then I hated anyone and anything that was Dark. I fought so hard to prove myself to the people around me. I wanted to distance myself from my family, and I left my brother behind because he didn’t want the same things. If he wasn’t going to fight with me, then I was going to fight without him.”

“He loved you,” Draco said with a shaky inhale that rattled when he breathed out. “I don’t know what your relationship was like on a deeper level, but he looked up to you.”

Black placed a hand over his head as his shoulders shook.

“Is that what the letters were about?” Lupin asked quietly with his eyes on Black.

Draco shook his head. “Not really. Black was mentioned in passing, mostly. Regulus wrote to me because he knew what kind of life I would have. He knew because he had lived one so similar. Regulus wanted to tell me his side of things, so that if I were ever in the same position, I would be informed of everything.”

“How would that help?” Black asked, his voice muffled from the palm of his hand.

“I’m not like you,” Draco whispered before he amended his statement. “I’m not like any of you. I didn’t choose a side like you did, Black. I didn’t think to question things, I never stopped to wonder whether or not my father’s teachings were right. I didn’t have a moral compass and part of that is my own fault. I never made an effort to try. At least not until the letters.

“Regulus opened my eyes to so much that I had been blind to, whether it was my own narrow-minded view or not. Suddenly I didn’t know who I was anymore. Because up until then, my beliefs were my father’s and I had no individuality.”

Draco took a deep breath as he shook his head. “I have spent so many years questioning my life. Whether to be a better person was something I was doing for myself or if I was doing it for Regulus. And to be honest, I wish the answer had been clearer from the start. I connected with Regulus in ways that scared me. How could someone I have never met change so much of my life? How could he know me in ways that I hadn’t tried to discover?

“I don’t know who Regulus was to you, Black, but he became everything to me. Which is why I had to tell you. I can’t let his death be in vain. He didn’t deserve the silence of his sacrifice.”

Draco blinked rapidly before he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his robes. When a warm hand engulfed his, he let their fingers entwine.

“How did he die?” Sirius asked, his voice cracked on the last word and a dry sob left Draco.

“Regulus discovered one of the Dark Lord’s Horcruxes. He gave up his life trying to get it.” Draco pointed to the letter on top. “That one will tell you everything you need to know. It was the last letter he wrote before he died.”

He glared when he thought of Regulus’ death. “What drives me mad is that no one knew. The Ministry still had him down as a missing person for years after his death. Until it was assumed that he had died sometime during the war. Everyone who knew he was a Death Eater believes he ran away, like a coward would. But really, he died fighting the Dark Lord’s beliefs. He died doing the right thing, and not a fucking soul knows about it.”

Draco slammed his hand against the table, and he ignored the way they all startled.

“Regulus believed in things he never got a chance to show, and I hate it. I hate that no one saw the good in him, no one thought he could have redemption if given the chance. Regulus was someone who was self-aware enough to know that he had made mistakes, but those mistakes didn’t define him. Regulus was a good person, and I want the world to know that, I _need_ you all to know that. _Please_ know that.”

Potter pulled him into a hug and Draco couldn’t hold back the tears. “I wish I could have met him,” Draco whispered in Potter’s ear. “He made me who I am.”

“No,” Potter returned just as quietly. “ _You_ made you who you are, he just gave you a push.”

Draco felt small hands on his back and he realized that Dobby had joined the hug. He reached a hand behind him take hold of Dobby’s hand.

When Draco pulled back enough to stare at Potter, he couldn’t help but rest his forehead against Potter’s.

“You’ve kind of shaped me too,” he whispered, eyes searching for _something_.

Potter smiled as he ran a finger down Draco’s cheek. “Good, because you’ve done the same for me.”

“Can you two boyfriends save the flirting for later?” Black snarked, his eyes were red and he didn’t look okay, but he had a genuine smile on his face—albeit a small one.

Draco leaned away from Potter and sat more firmly in his chair.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Draco and I aren’t—” Draco squeezed Potter’s hand and watched Potter smile as his sentence ended abruptly.

“Oh,” Black began with a slight twinkle. “Remus did you hear that, Harry—”

Lupin rolled his eyes. “Shut up Sirius. Let them be.”

Silence settled around them, but it was comforting and it didn’t feel stifling in the slightest.

Black raised a hand and moved tentatively towards the letters on the table. “Do you mind if I read these.”

“Go ahead,” whispered Draco. Parting from them didn’t seem as daunting after he had already voiced his thoughts. “Just, give them back to me? When you are ready?”

When Black’s eyes softened, Draco wondered why he felt like he had seen them before. It was odd that Black didn’t regard him as badly as he had always thought would happen.

“They were always supposed to be yours,” Black said with a shrug. “I’m just going to borrow them.”

“What do we do about the Horcruxes?” Potter asked. “Should we tell Dumbledore?”

“Who’s to say he doesn’t already know,” Draco said as he placed his hand underneath his chin.

Black and Lupin exchanged a long look, so long that Draco wondered if they were using a form of Legilimency.

“He’s the head of the Order,” Lupin said, eyes still on Black, and Draco got the impression that it wasn’t meant for them.

“Moony, you know my thoughts. The information never goes both ways.”

Draco hummed curiously. Did Black not trust Dumbledore?

“I know but—”

“It was the same thing with the prophecy. Dumbledore refused to tell us anything but demanded we all protect it. Harry wasn’t allowed to know _why_ Voldemort was trying to get into his head for the better part of a year. Harry almost walked straight into a trap for Merlin’s sake!”

Black paused to look at Draco. “Thank you for that, by the way. If you hadn’t pushed him in, I think he would have stormed the Ministry.”

Draco didn’t doubt that one bit.

“I’m right here!” Potter cried.

Black ignored Potter and chose to return to his conversation with Lupin.

“I think that if we go to him with this knowledge, he will tell us to do nothing and he will handle it. Do nothing and it will all work out in the end. I am tired of doing nothing, Remus. A war is coming, and we can’t just sit on our arses.”

Lupin placed a hand on his forehead as he nodded.

“Alright, say I hypothetically agree with you—”

Black whooped loudly, and Draco smiled at the sight. Was his cousin always like that?

“I said _hypothetically_ , Sirius,” Lupin rested his hands on his hip and gave Black a look of disappointment. “What are we are going to do, travel Britain on a Horcrux hunt?”

“That kind of sounds like fun,” Potter said.

“You aren’t helping,” Black hissed when Lupin grinned smugly.

As the two started to argue about the merits of hunting Horcruxes, Draco settled against Potter and closed his eyes.

“Why not just ask Kreacher? He knows about one of them.”

The silence that followed was quite nice and Draco had been about to doze off when three shouts jerked him into an upright position.

“What are you talking about?” Lupin demanded.

“Kreacher!” Black bellowed.

“Why would Kreacher know about a Horcrux?”

“Kreacher!” Black continued to yell. “If you don’t get in here I will find a way to burn my mother’s portrait and I promise you I will dance to the sound of your tears.”

“Sirius!” Potter scolded. “I don’t like him either, but that’s just rude.”

“Master called,” Kreacher croaked as he pushed open the kitchen door. His eyes travelled the room and lingered on Dobby before they settled on Draco. “More like screamed. Master doesn’t know how to be civil.”

Draco snorted and tried to wave his hand in an apology when Black glared at him.

“Yes, well we can’t all be prudes with wands up our arses like dear old mum, can we?”

Kreacher let out a gasp. “If Mistress could hear Master now.”

“I’m sure she would be horrified,” Black said in a deadpan tone, and Draco had never been more curious in his life. Just what went on in the Noble House of Black?

“Kreacher,” Draco spoke up softly as he stood up and made his way over. It took some effort to kneel, his body still ached.

“My name is Draco Malfoy.”

Kreacher stood up straighter and his eyes widened.

“Mister Malfoy comes from good blood.”

He tried not to grimace at that. “I have something I want to talk to you about. I want to talk about Regulus.”

Kreacher took a step back as his ears drooped. “Kreacher doesn’t want to talk about Master Regulus.”

“He cared about you, didn’t he?”

Kreacher nodded once and mumbled something inaudible.

“I know that he gave you a locket the night he died.”

When Kreacher’s eyes narrowed, Draco couldn’t stop the smile on his face from forming.

“How does young Master Malfoy know that?”

_“Master?”_ Black whispered in outrage. “Just once sock in his daily stew, no one will even know.”

Draco tuned Black out with a shake of his head.

“I know because Regulus told me,” Draco said quietly as he gestured behind him towards the table. “He wrote to me about it.”

“Master Regulus confided in young Master Draco?”

“He sure did.”

Kreacher stared at Draco intently, far more intently than any house elf besides Dobby ever had before.

A snap of Kreacher’s fingers and he had disapparated.

“Where did he go?” Potter asked.

“Somewhere in the house,” Black said. “He’s been ordered not to leave the house unless I give permission.”

They didn’t have to wait long, Kreacher returned just as quickly as he had left.

“Kreacher tried to get rid of it,” Kreacher croaked immediately as he held up a big golden locket.

“Hey, I remember that!” Potter said, his voice held triumph to it. “We tried to open it—oh Merlin, we tried to open a Horcrux.”

“But nothing Kreacher did worked!” Kreacher wailed, large tears forming in his eyes. “Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to get rid of it, but Kreacher couldn’t. Kreacher has failed Master Regulus.”

“No, no,” Draco said as he shook his head. “That’s not true. You listened to Regulus and got out of the cave. You took the locket and tried to do as he said. That’s not failing, Kreacher.”

Kreacher wiped his eyes on his gross uniform, and Draco grimaced slightly.

“If you’d like,” Draco began hesitantly. “We’re going to try and get rid of the Horcrux, we’re going to try and finish out what Regulus started. Would you like to help us?”

The locket lowered as Kreacher put his hand down and blinked up at Draco.

“Young Master Malfoy wants Kreacher’s help? Not an… order?”

Draco shook his head slowly. “I won’t order you Kreacher, but I would like your help, if you are willing. With all of us together I think we stand a chance. And I think Regulus would be proud of you.”

Kreacher rushed forward and nearly tackled Draco to the floor as he hugged him tightly.

“Kreacher likes Young Master Malfoy.” Draco smiled warmly, but before he could return the sentiment, Kreacher continued. “Kreacher wishes Young Master Malfoy was his Master instead.”

The sound of Potter and Lupin laughing drowned out Black’s objections.

With the help of Potter, Draco stood up and placed the locket on the table. They all stared at it with different levels of scrutiny. The locket didn’t seem as if it housed a piece of the Dark Lord. On the outside, it just resembled an expensive piece of jewelry.

“Do you think this is his only one?” Potter questioned.

“No,” Draco and Black said together. He didn’t think the Dark Lord could have stopped after just one. Not with the body count on his soul.

“It would explain how he vanished all those years ago. A Horcrux saved him.”

Draco glanced up in surprise. He had not considered that.

“Would explain why he had to be rebirthed,” Potter mused with a thoughtful hum.

The surprise vanished as horror filled Draco. He hadn’t needed the mental picture.

Black picked up the locket, his face was pinched in distaste and his frown was off-putting.

“So, we’re really going to do it?” Harry asked. “We’re going to try and get rid of the Horcrux and see if he has any others?”

Black and Lupin shared a long look.

“Yeah,” Black said slowly. “We’re going to do it. The four of us.”

“Five, sir,” Dobby said as he raised his hand.

“Okay the five of us.”

“Six,” Harry argued. “You can’t leave out Kreacher.”

“Bloody hell,” Black exploded. “Fine, the six of us. What kind of group is this? We are a bunch of misfits.”

“I think that’s the best kind,” Draco said with a grin as Black groaned.

“We should have a name,” Harry exclaimed, his eyes bright.

“No.” Black shook his head. “No names, and if there were, neither of you would get to decide.”

“What about Horcrux Hunters?” Lupin offered, and Draco could see the mischief on his face.

“Remus,” Sirius sighed before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Aren’t you supposed to be the sensible one?”

“I like it,” Harry said quickly as he looked between Black and Lupin. “It’s decided, we are the Horcrux Hunters. If you don’t like it, Sirius, you’ll have to create your own secret duelling club.”

Harry sent Draco a wink. “I told you that you would be in the next one.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Black complained. “We aren’t duelling anything.”

Draco ignored Black as he moved closer to Harry.

“Sirius, I think we should go, give them some space.”

“Space?” Black scoffed. “Why would they want—oh, ew.”

Draco wanted to hex Black as much as he wanted to thank him, perhaps that was a familial thing.

“Well, then I’m going to put this somewhere safe.” Black gestured to the locket in his hands.

“Just don’t keep it somewhere where you will touch it!” Lupin called after Black as they headed towards the kitchen door with Kreacher following them.

“I’m not stupid, you know.” A beat of silence. “And I swear if you say—” The kitchen door swung shut and it would seem that Draco wouldn’t know the end of that threat.

“Draco,” Dobby said as he pulled on his robe. “Dobby must be leaving. The Kitchen leader assigns duties today.”

“Okay.” Draco pulled Dobby into a hug. “Thank you for today. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t arrived.”

“Dobby will always be there for Draco—Draco is Dobby’s best friend.”

Draco had to close his eyes against the sting in them. He had already cried too much as it was. He wasn't going to let Dobby’s words get to him as well.

“You are my best friend too.”

When Dobby disapparated, Draco slumped against Potter.

“What a bloody day.”

Potter’s arms wrapped around Draco and pulled him closer. The warmth radiating off of Potter was nice, and he wouldn’t mind staying.

“I have been worried about you.”

“When aren’t you worried?” Draco asked as he entwined their fingers.

“You know, I don’t know why I bother. You are such a prat.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed with a smile. “But you like me anyway.”

Potter tilted Draco’s chin up. “I do, you know I do.”

Despite the chaos of the day, so much pressure had been lifted off his shoulders, and he was tired of denying himself what he wanted.

And he wanted Potter.

“I like you too.”

Potter smile was bright and beautiful. It was exactly the kind of sight he needed after the day he had.

“I know.”

“Now who’s the prat?” Draco parroted, but the tease fell flat as Potter’s thumb moved in a slow circle on his cheek, each drag of his thumb moved closer to his lips.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” Potter whispered as his face moved closer.

“I thought we weren't supposed to wait for each other.”

“I lied.”

Draco laughed, and he would have shaken his head, but Potter’s grip kept him still.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

When Potter’s grip weakened, Draco leaned forward the rest of the way and discovered what it felt like to kiss Potter again. Potter’s lips were still chapped, the pressure of their mouths was just as soft, and the build-up of intensity was still there.

The difference was his emotions. Draco had cared for Potter each time they had kissed previously, but not with as much vigour, nor as deeply. As their lips moved slowly, Draco held on to Potter.

One kiss turned into two, three and then quickly into many more. He knew if given the opportunity, he could get lost in Potter—something he wanted to explore. The kiss was familiar but different, because they were different. It made him wonder if their kisses would always be like that. Would it change on the mood? Change with each breath they took?

He couldn’t wait to find out.

The kitchen door slammed open, and it didn’t cause them to spring apart, but they did separate slowly; slow enough that Potter nipped at Draco’s bottom lip and they both groaned.

“For fuck’s sake,” Black said loudly as he opened and closed the door repeatedly. “The first time was supposed to get you to stop.”

They both looked at him, brows arched but said nothing.

Black pointed at Draco. “You are staying here and that’s final.” He gestured between them. “You won’t be sharing a room, you nasties, I remember what it was like to be your age. Ain’t that right, Remus?”

“Kill me now.” Lupin’s muffled voice could be heard, and Draco snickered.

“There are plenty of rooms to choose from,” Black continued as if Lupin hadn’t spoken. “I’d say my home is your home but let’s face it, no one wants to live here. Except maybe Kreacher, and is that _really_ a deciding factor?”

Draco’s lips twitched. He wasn’t sure what to make of Black. Black wasn’t what he expected. It was easy to see how Black had been the outcast of their family, and Draco liked that.

Black moved to leave again but he paused near the door. “I’m glad you are here, Draco.”

Draco looked down as his cheeks felt hot. “Me too. Thank you.”

The door swung shut and Potter’s arms wrapped around him again.

“Are you alright?” Potter asked. “Answer me honestly.”

“No,” Draco said instantly. “I’m not. But I will be.” That much he was sure of.

Draco didn’t know what the future held for him. He didn’t know how his decision would shape the rest of his life, nor was he aware of any mistakes that might arise from it, but he did know that it had been worth it. Every doubt, every fear and every concern had paved his path. And he wouldn’t change a single thing.

Perhaps he could have thought it through better, or came to conclusions sooner, but in the end, it didn’t matter. The what ifs didn’t change the end result. Draco had chosen a path, one of his own making, one that been with all the knowledge possible.

Draco knew he was and he was proud of that—proud of the person he had become, and he would continue to be proud of himself along the way.

Most of his path had been both singular in the direction and in means of comfort—it had been lonely. But going forward would be filled with many people; people who cared about him and wanted to be there.

Draco owed a lot to Regulus, owed him so much, but he also owed many things to himself. And he was pretty sure that Regulus had known that going in.

As much as Draco relied on Regulus’ teachings and took it all to heart, he couldn't live in the past, nor could he dwell on Regulus’ path, not if he were to move onward with his own.

Something told Draco that Regulus would have been alright with that decision.

 

* * *

 

 

**Dear Cousin,**

_I don’t know why I am writing this. I told myself I wouldn’t, and yet here we are. Writing my thoughts down isn’t as complicated as the mess of emotions in my head. I know that there is no reason to write to you, expect to satisfy my own curiosity._

_I wonder if we will ever get to see each other, not in person, but perhaps in the afterlife? If such a thing as reincarnation exists, I would like to think that we will get to meet each other in another life. Surely, that wouldn’t be asking too much._

_Things on my end aren’t bad. Sure, a war is brewing and even fighting it in the limited ways that I can sucks, but it could be worse, and I am forever grateful that it’s not._

_I think about you often. Sometimes I wonder what you would do if you were by my side. Would agree with the way things have gone? Would you offer solutions? Your perspective is important to me, and I regret that we never did get to meet each other in the ways we wanted._

_This letter is pointless as to the fact that it will go nowhere. I will send it outward and imagine that you could open it, that you could read my words and know that due to you all of this was made possible. You cousin, are the reason I decided to write to you._

_You are the reason for a lot of things in my life. There are lessons that I wish I could teach you, as you have taught me. There are discussions I want to have with you, debates I want to explore, and meaningless conversations that last in our memories._

_As foolish as this may seem, I hope that somehow my words make it back to you, that even though you are gone you still might feel them. Is that naive? Does that make me fanciful? I want your existence to be what you wished of mine. I want your afterlife to be filled with no strife. I want you to finally be at peace, and to know that the future generations won’t be like us. They won’t know a world of war, they won’t know the pain of living it. The future wizards and witches will have any and all opportunities they desire. They will get the kind of world we should’ve had._

_Despite my envy over that, I can’t help but be proud that it will happen at all. I suppose I am speaking without the proof, but it will happen. It’s a new path I have chosen to walk down, and just as any of my other paths, this one is informed and of my own free will._

_Something you taught me._

_Please know that I will forever be grateful for the changes you caused in my life. The changes that have made me who I am, and the changes I have grown to love. Please know that you are always in my thoughts, and please know that I wish you the best despite the reality of such a thing._

_Take care._

 

**Love,**

**Draco**

**~fin~**

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Bonus Scene**

 

Draco knocked on the door harder than normal and snorted when he could hear Sirius complaining louder than the screams of Walburga.

It was Deja vu as the door opened and Sirius had his head turned to look at the painting.

“Harry, shut her up! I swear she is going to drive me mad one of these days.”

“You were already mad.”

“Yes, thank you for that deduction, Remus. You are a peach as always.”

“Well, I like you, Sirius,” Draco drawled with a smirk as Sirius’ head snapped up.

“You little shit,” Sirius hissed as he pulled Draco into the house. “You could have just flooed, or you know, opened the door with the key I gave you, like any normal person would do.”

“Filth! Scum! Half-Bloods and Beasts in the Noble House of Black!”

“I left the key here,” he said as he tuned out Walburga and peered up at Sirius, eyes wide in what he hoped was honesty. He could hear Harry pant and groan in what he figured were Harry’s attempts to wrangle the curtains shut.

Sirius’ eyes narrowed as annoyance filled them.

“Uh huh,” Sirius agreed with a hum. “And floo? Does Augustus not have a fireplace?”

“Of course she does,” Draco said with a huff. “She just ran out of floo powder.”

Sirius’ right eye twitched as Harry made a noise of triumph as Walburga stopped screaming.

“I didn’t choose my wand yesterday, you know?” Sirius said as he pushed Draco further down the hall. “You just wanted to rile her up in an attempt to rile me up.”

Draco let out an exaggerated gasp but paused at the bottom of the stairs to kiss Harry’s cheek in greeting.

“Can you believe this, Harry?”

Harry’s eyes twinkled. “Absolutely.”

“Ha!” Sirius snorted.

“You are supposed to be on my side,” Draco said before he poked Harry in the chest.

When Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and pulled him close, Draco decided that he could forgive him.

“How was it?” Harry asked as his fingers rubbed circles on Draco’s back. “Did you have fun with Neville?”

Draco lifted his hand in the air and moved it in a so-so manner. “Neville was fun to be with, if you discount his plants that are questionable, but his grandmother really tests my patience. If she keeps insulting him I am going to lock her in a room with Umbridge and see who makes it out alive.”

“That is something I would pay to see.” Remus’ voice had them looking towards the kitchen door. “What are you all doing in the hallway? Let’s go in the kitchen.”

“Actually,” Sirius interrupted, his voice was hesitant and that got Draco’s attention. “You two can go ahead, I have something to show Draco.”

Remus left without comment, but Harry hesitated.

Draco pulled away from Harry’s hold and sent him a nod to reassure him.

“Find me when you are done?” Harry asked, eyes searching Draco’s.

“Always.”

He watched Harry leave with a small smile. When he looked up he tried to flush at the soft way Sirius looked between them.

“What did you want to show me?” Draco prompted in the hope that Sirius wouldn’t talk about his relationship with Harry—again.

Sirius’ smile dimmed slightly, and Draco didn’t want to admit that it worried him.

“Do you mind if we go into the study?”

Draco nodded and his stomach clenched as he grew worried. It had taken him a few months to be alright with entering the study, the reminder of his father’s study had stopped making a recurrence.

When they entered, Draco could see something packaged hung on the wall near one of the bookshelves.

“It’s taken me over two months to get Gringotts to send it to me. If it weren’t for my criminal status, I could have taken it out of my vaults immediately, but there’s nothing to be done about that.”

“What is it?” Draco asked curiously. He could tell that it was a portrait, but why would Sirius want to show him that? Was it an heirloom of some kind?

“I figured you should be the one to open it.”

Draco shook his head in confusion. “What are you—” His breath caught as Sirius pulled off the wrapping paper.

A gold intricate frame outlined the painting. A young man with black wavy hair that was puffed slightly and partially covered one eye stared at him curiously before he looking around the room. A small plack on the wall that had been covered by the low wrapping held a name; Regulus Black

“Sirius, is that you? Merlin, you didn’t age well.”

“Oi!”

Draco inhaled sharply at the deep tone and elegant vibrato. For years he had wondered what Regulus would have looked like, what he would have sounded like, what he would have been like, and yet the image was nothing as he had imagined.

The sound the door made as it closed echoed around the room, but Draco couldn't take his eyes off of Regulus.

“And who might you be?” Regulus’ hands were folded and his eyes looked Draco up and down in a calculating manner.

A slightly wet laugh left Draco as he clutched his robes, the need to do _something_ too strong to ignore.

“You’ve never met me,” Draco began in a shaky tone that caused Regulus’ forehead to wrinkle. “But I know who you are.”

Regulus’ head tilted back slightly as he continued to regard Draco closely.

“It seems there is a power imbalance, for I have no idea who you are. You do look a bit like my Aunt Druella. Are we related?”

Draco nodded as his eyes stung. “My name is Draco Malfoy.”

Regulus’ mouth parted and an inaudible noise left his mouth.

“I got your letters,” Draco continued as he blinked rapidly trying to see through the wetness. “And I wanted to let you know that you have changed my _whole_ life.”

“Draco,” Regulus whispered as if he had been trying to commit the name to memory. “Look at you.”

Draco covered his mouth as he stared at Regulus. He couldn’t believe that it was real, that he was actually having a conversation with him.

“I always tried to picture what you would look like,” Regulus continued, as a small smile formed on his face. “Would you look like your mother or your father? Would you have the sharp features of your father or the softer edges like your mother?”

“And what do you see?” Draco whispered, he was a little worried about the answer. He didn’t want to be like either of them, didn’t want to be looked at and the only recognition to have been seen was for his parents.

“I see you,” Regulus said as his smile grew. “I don’t know you well cousin, but I don’t see much of either of them in you.”

A shaky breath left Draco as he sat down in a nearby chair gingerly.

“What’s the world like?” Regulus asked in earnest, his tone was subtle, as if he didn’t want to come across as eager. “Have things changed much?”

“Some,” Draco said with a shrug. “But not enough.”

The smile left Regulus’ face and for the first time, Draco could see the person who had fought in a war.

“I take it the Dark Lord is still alive?”

“He came back over a year ago. We think a Horcrux saved him.”

Regulus closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped. “I had been afraid of that. How did he disappear the first time? Someone powerful must have taken him out.”

Draco chuckled and it turned into a laugh when Regulus frowned at him.

“A baby got rid of him.”

“Are you messing with me?”

Draco laughed harder. “No, I’m not. We don’t know much about what happened, actually. All we know is that the Dark Lord went after Lily and James Potter’s son.”

“The Potters were powerful,” Regulus said with a nod for emphasis. “It does not surprise me that he chose to take them out. But to target their son?”

Draco lifted his hands in the air. He didn’t understand it any better than Regulus did.

“All we know is that only Harry made it out alive.”

“The baby?” Regulus questioned, his nose turned upward and his lips downcast in a frown. “A baby got rid of the Dark Lord?”

“Yes.”

“Must have been a very powerful baby.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t say that, his ego doesn’t need a boost.”

Regulus hummed curiously. “You are friends?”

A sharp knock interrupted Draco’s response.

“Are you alright? Sirius just told me.”

Draco’s heart skipped a beat at the concerned tone.

“I’m alright, Harry. I’ll find you, okay?”

There was a muffled response and then only silence.

Draco looked up at grinned at the way Regulus’ eyes were on the door.

“That would be the baby,” Draco said with a laugh. “He’s also my boyfriend.”

Regulus’ eyes snapped onto Draco and a smirk so similar to Sirius’ had Draco groaning. He didn’t need to be teased by two members of the Black family.

“Well, I’d say a lot of things have changed.”

Many things _had_ changed, and many things would continue to change.

“You haven’t—” Draco bit his lip. “You haven’t asked me about my decisions. Or whether or not I became a Death Eater.”

“That’s because it doesn’t matter to me,” Regulus explained, eyes soft and a patient smile in place. “I told you from the beginning that I would always love whoever you turned out to be. Death Eater or not.”

Draco closed his eyes as he relaxed further into the chair.

“I didn’t,” he whispered. “I said no.”

“And I’m sure that was hard for you.”

Draco nodded, ashamed at the answer. Sirius, Remus, and even Harry commend the bravery of saying no, but they never stopped to realize how easy it would have been to give in. The easiest path hadn’t been the one he chose.

“Being good is so hard,” Draco said, eyes still closed. “Why is that? Why is it easy to do the wrong thing?”

“I wish I had the answer for that.”

Draco opened his eyes and took in Regulus’ sombre face.

“I want you to know that I’m proud of you,” Regulus continued. “I’m proud of who you are, not the decisions you made or the path you chose. I’m proud of the person that you have become, the person who you once were, and I’ll be proud of the person who you will continue to be.”

He looked up to the ceiling as his eyes began to sting once more. Draco had always wanted his father to be proud of him. As a child, he had sought his father’s approval, just so he could hear those words—but they had never come.

To have Regulus’ pride meant _everything_ to Draco. In many ways, Regulus had taught Draco the most important life lessons, the ones he would take with him, always.

“Thank you.” He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and revelled in the knowledge that it would have made his father cringe.

“So,” Regulus began after he cleared his throat. “You know most of my story, mainly the middle and the end, but now it’s your turn. I want to know all about you, cousin. I want you to tell me your story.”

“That might take a while.”

“That’s alright. We have all the time in the world.”

So Draco talked and talked. He told Regulus everything, no detail had been left out. They talked until the sun went down, they talked even after Draco grew hungry, they talked till his eyes began to droop, and then they promised to talk later—promised to continue to talk even when there was nothing left to say.

As Regulus said, they had all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a wild ride, and I hope you all have enjoyed it. Draco's path to who he wanted to be means a lot to me, and hopefully, it did to you all as well.
> 
> I wanna thank Tami once again for being my wonderful artist, and thank the mods one more time as well. It was a lot fun doing this Harry/Draco Big Bang, and I am thankful I joined. 
> 
> -XxTheDarkLordxX
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Come say hi ❤
> 
> [Xx-TheDarkLord-xX @ tumblr](https://xx-thedarklord-xx.tumblr.com/) and [LLAP115 @ tumblr](https://llap115.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Creators live for comments and kudos! Each single one is much appreciated. Let us know that you were here :) -LLAP115


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